


Take the Light

by PenelopeAbigail



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Gen, Human Experimentation, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 13:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeAbigail/pseuds/PenelopeAbigail
Summary: The Avengers stopped Loki’s invasion, but Thor did not take Loki to Asgard. HYDRA was still inside SHIELD, who had custody of a powerful alien. HYDRA acted. This is the aftermath.The timeline is not linear. Things are jumbled. It’s a metaphor.





	1. The Beginning of the After

**Author's Note:**

> So I completely forgot Tony's Malibu mansion was destroyed in Iron Man 3. Let's just act like he rebuilt it.

_ It was dark. _

_ That, or they stole his eyesight, again. _

_ But he couldn’t hear anything either, so there must be nobody around. _

_ Or his ears were damaged… _

_ Most likely, it was evening, and his scientists had gone away for the night. _

_ He wasn’t normally awake when that happened. Normally, he’d pass out shortly after they left and would wake when they brought the light with them. But now and again, he’d be blessed to be able to cherish these intervals. _

_ He could hear himself breathing, could feel his lungs healing, and could see that accursed green dot that never seemed to stop blinking. _

_ He relished in the reprieve, relished in the silence, relished in the dark. It gave his senses a break, a chance to recover.  _

_ He could hear the faint whistling of something in the room, probably belonging to whatever was stirring up the air, but nothing else. The silence sounded so  _ good _ after so long of nothing but the  _ whirrrr _ of machines, the unintelligible chatter of the men, and if he were aware enough, the ringing in his ears after a while of screaming that he couldn’t stop. _

_ His eyes felt good for the first time in a very long time, the darkness a blessing from the bright light at which he always ended up staring, so he turned his head to the side so that the blinking dot was in his range of vision. He actually really hated the dark, but he has no choices, has never had any choices, so as long as he could see  _ something _ , he was considerably happier than when there was light. The blinking green dot was his favorite thing in the world.  _

_ He didn’t want to think about what he felt, just knew that it hurt, but not so bad as if the men were there—but he shut those thoughts down immediately, focusing on the green dot. _

_ He almost enjoyed these alone times, always crafts dreams in his head, stories that he can control, mainly focused around him being alone. Sometimes, back at the beginning, he would dream of himself and the scientists together, would dream that he was a scientist too, would dream of a thousand different ways he could hurt them like they hurt him. He had just been so full of hate and rage. _

_ Now, though, he harbored no anger; the fear had overtaken that emotion long ago. Now, he was filled with sadness and fear and a longing for he knew not what. _

_ Now, he dreamed of himself alone, because he was the only person he knew. _

—

With Fury gone and SHIELD disavowed, HYDRA could be anywhere, unchecked. Steve couldn’t trust just anyone with what should be classified info, which meant going to a civilian hospital was out of the question. There would be obvious dislike working against them, and the press would take notice. Who knew who would see the news coverage if that happened, and then government officials would come to take Loki into custody once again—but could the government be trusted to not be HYDRA, coming to take back what was stolen from them?

No, Steve couldn’t go to a hospital. But where, then?

“I can get medical equipment brought in within five hours,” Tony’s voice came through the earpiece, after having been silent for a good while.

“He needs a doctor, Tony. The wounds and injuries are—“ Steve cut off. He really didn’t know the words to use to get his thoughts across properly. 

Loki’s injuries were—well,  _ injuries _ wasn’t the right word. This was  _ done  _ to him, with a specific purpose in mind. He’d suffered physical trauma, and this trauma was extensive. 

When Steve and Sam found Loki, they had been searching for Bucky, or information about Bucky. The scientists at the compound were a different branch of HYDRA; they didn’t know the Winter Soldier was anything more than a bodyguard, so Steve and Sam didn’t bother to try to get them all to talk, just knocked them out and locked them in one of the labs. That proved to be a mistake when they found Loki, unmoving, strapped to what looked like a dental engine, unclothed with many wounds open to the cool air. There had been a fair amount of blood lost in the process of wrapping him and getting him onto a gurney and out of there, and neither Sam nor Steve were doctors, and both were pretty sure they hadn’t properly taken care of a single one of those wounds. 

A doctor was  _ very _ necessary. 

“I can maybe get Bruce here, too.”

“He’s not that kind of doctor—“

“He’s got extensive background experience in pediatrics.”

That was true. 

Steve’s only objection was that he really didn’t want anything to trigger Dr. Banner into transforming into the Hulk. However, he didn’t know Bruce as well as Tony did, and he certainly didn’t know the man’s triggers or his self-control. It’d be a risk, but Tony was probably the only one who knew the size of the risk. So if Tony says it’ll be fine, then Steve’ll believe it’ll be fine.

“Yeah, call him in. It seems as if he’s our only option anyway. It’s not like we can just walk into a hospital…”

“Lemme know if his status changes.”

“Will do.”

“How’s Thor?”

Ah, yes. The remaining Avengers had been concerned for some time, because Thor hadn’t checked in for  _ months _ . They had thought he’d either given up his search for Loki completely or gone back to Asgard, but lo and behold, he was unconscious in a cell, too. He also was strapped down, but to a padded table with only an IV drip. Steve could only assume HYDRA was keeping Thor unconscious. They must have been at it for some time, since the man had lost a considerable amount of weight from the last time they saw each other. 

The good part was that, unlike his brother, Thor bore no evidence of having been harmed. In fact, he was still wearing his normal underclothes. 

“Still unconscious. Sam removed the IV, which cut off whatever they were pumping into him, but he still hasn’t woken up.”

“Who knew how long HYDRA had him down there. Did you get anything about how they got him?”

After finding Loki and actually witnessing an ongoing operation on him, Sam had thrown up. Steve had dealt with the doctors and wrapped Loki’s abrasions, while Sam had excused himself and found the file room. Aside from the computers, there had been filing cabinets all along the walls, but most had been empty, save an armful of papers. 

Steve had gone looking for Sam and had found Thor in a nearby cell. 

Sam had uploaded all data to JARVIS for Tony to go through, and after helping Steve wheel the two gurneys onto the jet, he sat down and began to sort through it all.

“We’re still trying to figure that out. What about you? Anything useful in those files?”

“Jarvis just finished translating it all. I haven’t started looking.”

“Let me know if there’s anything in there that we need to know immediately.”

“Back at ya, Cap.”

And that was that. 

The jet was on autopilot for now, with at least eight hours ahead of them. Sam looked exhausted, hand on the side of the gurney where Loki lay motionless and unconscious, holding it still during the flight, and Steve knew neither he nor Sam had slept in the last 32 hours. With what they’d just seen, he also knew neither of them would be able to sleep at all, at least not until they got Loki to Stark’s mansion and Thor woke up.

So, he joined Sam to go through the papers. Maybe they’d find something useful.

—

_ A2. _

_ A2, A2, A2. _

_ That was him.  _

_ That was his name, that was what they always called him. _

_ A2. _

_ But it didn’t sound right. It didn’t feel right. _

_ Was it a nickname, then? _

_ Or was it a description? Maybe that was how they referred to his body, but not  _ him _. _

_ He knew those two were separate things. He knew he was his mind, and he was also his body, but they didn’t seem to know that. They didn’t know that the body they call  _ A2  _ was him, too.  _

_ Or maybe they did. _

_ He didn’t know, couldn’t figure anything out most of the time—the pain kept his mind from thinking about things. _

_ Maybe they were doing this to him on purpose. Maybe they knew it was his body. _

_ But why then? _

_ He remembered most of nothing outside this place—had thought for a long time now, that they had created him here, in this lab that he never left, created him through their ruthless experiments. _

_ They had created his mind on accident and his body deliberately. Thus, they were two separate things. _

_ But then again, he remembered a man, tall and fit, seas of red and a dull yellow. He remembers that man’s face, yet the men here look nothing like that. Never have. _

_ The men here always were colorless. Colorless fabric on their arms, colorless fabric on their chests, and colorless fabric on their faces. If they  _ had _ faces. _

_ That man did not belong here, in this lab, with him and with  _ them _. He must then know him from somewhere else.  _

_ But he couldn’t fathom from where he could possibly have seen him. _

—

Loki was not okay.

That was the first thing he remembered when he woke up. 

Loki was not okay, and he had to help him!

Thor shot up and out of the bed and had called Mjolnir, before he realized that he was not in that  _ place _ . In fact, he recognized immediately where he was—Tony’s mansion in Midgard, specifically, the room he always slept in when staying. When had he escaped? And where was Loki?

He quickly searched the house and found Tony first, in his lab at a desk messing with one of those holographic projections of words. 

“Tony,” he said, trying not to startle the man, “how did I get here?”

Tony swiveled around, all bright eyes and a smile on his face, “Thor, my man!” 

He stood up and they approached each other; Tony continued, “You’re  _ finally _ awake! How do you feel?”

_ Finally? _ Just how long had he been asleep? Hadn’t he  _ just _ been fighting HYDRA agents to get to his brother? Speaking of…

“I am fine. Where is Loki? What happened?”

Tony slapped his bicep in greeting before turning back around to sit again, “Good to see you, too. Hey, take a seat, that story will probably be short since  _ I’m  _ narrating, but still sit anyway. You look like you’re gonna fall over.”

There was a chair directly to his right, and he sat and listened, “Speak. Please. Is he well?”

“ _ Well? _ Um, no, I’d say not. You were there, right? Do you know what was happening? How did you even get there?”

That wasn’t exactly a story, as Stark had said, but Thor answered his questions, “I was. It was…” He looked down at his fidgeting hands in his lap, searching for words. Now that he actually thought about the whole situation, he couldn’t actually remember much at all. “Not good. I don’t remember much, not how I came to be there, but those men were hurting him,” he clenched his fists and grit his teeth, “He was screaming, and there was a lot of blood. I think in my rage I might have killed one of them, but I did not intend to.”

Now that he remembered, he felt very guilty. He wasn’t completely sure the man had died, but he had hit his head rather hard and the man was but a mortal.

“If ya did, he deserved it. I could quickly skim the important bits for you and you can read the rest, if you want. I don’t want to go into the details of the torture.”

Torture? Yes, he supposed that must have been what had been happening. Loki had been screaming rather desperately—and he remembered Loki crying out for him, looking at him and seeing him, begging him to kill him, and he remembered panic at hearing Loki, panic at seeing all the blood, panic when he saw Loki’s chest and organs and the rapid inhalations of his lungs. Those men had opened his brother up, tortured him, and yes, perhaps the man he killed had deserved it. 

His guilt quickly changed to anger again, and he stood, fists clenching at his side.

“I shall read about it, then. I’d like to know what else those monsters did to my brother. But first, tell me, what else happened? How did I get here, and where is Loki?”

Tony leaned back to rest his elbows on the desk behind him.

“I don’t know how long you’ve been unconscious, buddy, but you haven’t checked in with us for  _ months _ . We were all worried. Glad nothing torturous happened to you,” Tony cracked a smile. 

Thor smiled back.

Tony continued, “While you’ve been gone, Steve met up with an old friend of his who ran away. Then he made a new friend, and together they helped Nat bring down HYDRA, a terrorist organization that preys on the innocent. They had been hiding inside SHIELD since the 40s, so now SHIELD is compromised, practically gone as it is, and—oh yeah! Nat uploaded all of HYDRA’s files online, so that auto search that I made for you to find Loki blew up my phone. That’s how we found out HYDRA had Loki this whole time.”

The faster Stark spoke, the less Thor understood. But the man just didn’t stop, “Since I’m retired, Steve and Sam went down to Cuba to find Steve’s friend that ran away and discovered our very own human experiment and the god of Shakespeare. You were unconscious the whole flight until now.”

Tony must have really meant  _ quickly— _ he just now stopped to breathe _. _ Now, Thor considered his words.

The first thing he’d said was that it’d been months since Thor had spoken to any of them, but how could that be, since he just spoke with Stark not four days ago? Had he been unconscious that whole time, in that  _ place _ ? 

Nothing torturous had happened to him, so he’d been kept unharmed. Had they been  _ saving  _ him, keeping him until it was time to torture him instead of Loki? What plans had they had with him that they kept him asleep for that length of time?

Tony mentioned that they found an  _ experiment _ along with what he recognized as Stark’s attempt at a nickname for Thor himself, so would that be Loki, then? The experiment?

“Was that what they were doing to my brother— _ experimenting _ ?”

Tony didn’t freeze, per se, but  _ paused _ , thinking about his words, “Yes and no. Yes in that they were curious about the differences between us humans and you Asgardians, and no in that they weren’t really looking for anything in particular, just hurting him out of sheer curiosity…”

Thor supposed he’d need to read those files Tony’d mentioned, but now that the anger had subsided a bit, he was afraid to, afraid of what horrors hid in those words. He saw what they had been doing to Loki, saw the pain his brother had been in, saw the horror with his own eyes, enough to last a lifetime. Odin help him if he were to see or  _ read  _ more. 

No, he no longer wanted to so much as glimpse those documents. Loki would be tell enough.

Speaking of…

“And where is my brother now? Did the Captain and the Falcon leave him there?”

Tony looked affronted by his questioning, startled, but he took a moment to respond.

“…You serious? No! No  _ way  _ would the good Captain leave someone in that state, not even a mass murderer!”

Thor was indeed ashamed of himself for doubting his friends, for evening thinking that those good men would do such a thing. 

“You are right. I am sorry of accusing.”

Tony just shook his head a little and motioned with his thumb, “He’s down the hall. I ordered medical equipment and asked Bruce to come patch him up.”

“Is he all right?”

“Unsure. He hasn’t joined us in the land of the awake yet. Y’all haven’t been here long, just about a few hours, and I think Brucey is still nursing over him.”

Thor nodded his understanding and turned toward the door.

“I shall go see him, to be by his side when he wakes.”

He had almost opened the door when Tony stopped him, voice shrouded, distant, hesitant, “Thor?”

He turned, “Yes?”

“Um, be careful with him. He might not look all that bad, I mean—“ he glanced down and rubbed the back of his neck, seeming like he was nervous about what he was saying, “—I know y’all heal really fast— _ anyway _ , I’ve gone through almost all the files HYDRA had on their mainframe about the experiments, because they popped up when Nat uploaded them, and they all contained the label they gave him, ‘ _ Subject A2 _ ’, and well, what I’m trying to say is—it’s bad.”

Thor felt as if his stomach had dropped, despair creeping upon him, but Tony continued, “Like, what they did to him… They had him for, what, nearly two years? He was awake, as far as I could gather from these files, and the things they did to him while he was  _ conscious _ —“

Thor couldn’t take it, couldn’t listen to it anymore, didn’t want to, “Stop. Please. I’d rather not know of the horrors the punishment became for Loki. I don’t want to read those files. I just want to see him.”

Without another word, he left.

—

_ He just laid there, as still as he could. He was so tired from screaming and crying and the pain, and not for the first time he wished they would make a mistake that would end his life.  _

_ He hated procedures like these, the ones where they were interested in what his insides could do. He never understood why they did what they did to him, but he couldn’t argue, couldn’t protest, couldn’t give them the answers they sought because  _ they wouldn’t ask.

_ He thought he did have the answers they were looking for, but maybe he didn’t. If he had been created in there  _ by _ them, then surely  _ they _ had more answers than he did. So he was probably just an unhelpful nuisance to them. _

_ But he  _ hadn’t _ been created in there! _

_ He remembered that much. _

_ He remembered the man with the yellow and the red, remembered that he was waiting for him for something— _ something,  _ he couldn’t remember what. He was supposed to do something, but nobody ever told him what to do, so how was he supposed to get them to like him if they didn’t talk to him or ask him to do things? _

_ …There was a rumbling. He thought maybe the scientists were trying to jostle something around, because his whole bed was rumbling, and he didn’t like it. _

_His doctors didn’t seem to like it either; they ran away, left him open and bleeding and_ hurting _(they always put him back together before they leave, but they hadn’t, no wait, please_ _come back make it stop please don’t leave)_

_ And then there was a lot of noise, a different kind of noise from the sound he or the machines usually made.  _

_ There was noise, a crash, and a lot of dust. _

_ He started coughing, and the pain of that over-shrouded the rest of the noise in the room. By the time the fit subsided, his ears were ringing and his eyes were watering, and he thought he must’ve been dreaming again, maybe he coughed himself unconscious, because there was the man he dreamed of. The man in yellow and red, but this time, he was more  _ clear _. _

_ The yellow turned out to be wavy hair, the red was a thick, soft cape, and the man was  _ Thor _. _

_ The man was his brother. _

_ He remembered who he was. _

_ He remembered, because the man kept saying his name, “Loki,  _ Loki _ , brother, please look at me.” _

_ At first he didn’t understand, because he  _ was  _ looking at him, his armor was beautiful and solid and shiny and—oh wait, he meant his eyes. Look him in the eyes. _

_ He couldn’t help the words that spilled out, “Thor, Thor, Thor, brother, help me,  _ please don’t leave me— _ “ _

_ But Thor cut him off, “Brother, we don’t have much time,” he turned his head, gazing at Loki’s wounded and open stomach with a face calculatingly blank, but Loki remembered his brother got angry so very easily, and he was looking at Loki with those eyes, and Loki remembered that those eyes were often full of rage, and there was no one else in the room with them, so then it must be Loki he was angry with—but _ why was he angry with Loki _?  _

_ What had he done this time? _

_ “No, no, no, please, Thor, please, brother, don’t hurt me, don’t—“ _

_ And his eyes were back on his, locked with Loki’s, and his voice broke through Loki’s murmuring, “Loki, please quiet yourself. We don’t have much time. I’ve been so worried—“ _

_ Loki knew Thor was still talking, probably just chatting the nerves away like he was wont to do, but he was also undoing the restraints and folding Loki’s chest back together and Loki just couldn’t hear through the pain. _

_ All he knew was that Thor was his brother.  _

_ Thor was his brother and Thor was here to save him.  _

_ Thor was getting him out of this place and away from this pain and they were going to go home. _

_ He remembered he had a mother, and he thought about her and about how beautiful she was, and— _

_ Large, warm hands were on his face, turning his head and wiping away the tears that had gathered, and he saw Thor’s mouth. It was moving, so he strained to hear. _

_ “Loki, please, be quiet. They will find me, and they’ll try to stop me from taking you away. You must be quiet.” _

_ There was such urgency in his face, in his voice, in his hands that pulled him to sit up and wrapped his chest in bandages. _

_ Then there was a  _ click-click _ and Thor  _ moved _ , too fast, and Loki was holding onto his arms, so Loki moved too but also held Thor back and slowed him down. _

_ But something happened. Thor tensed up, let go of Loki, and fell to the ground. That’s when the scientists all ran back into the room. A man in green stood by the door holding a gun. The scientists unwrapped the bandages that Thor had wrapped him with and gently laid him back down.  _

_ The soldier by the door dragged Thor away, leaving a trail of blood. _

_ Loki thought perhaps they killed him. _

_ Who was he again? _

_ Loki didn’t fight back. _

—

When Tony rang him up, he hadn’t been doing anything too terribly important. Just sleeping. So he missed the first call.

And the second. And the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. But the seventh came at 5:21 in the morning, and his mind was used to waking then. Didn’t mean he was happy about it, though.

Tony wasn’t exactly chipper that he missed the calls, but in Bruce’s defense, nobody should be awake at such an hour!

“Bruce! Finally! Where have you been? We  _ need _ you!”

…What?

“Tony?” He sat up and rubbed his eye, “Tony, what—“

“No time to explain, big green, just get over here ASAP.”

He  _ just _ woke up. He didn’t have the brainpower yet to think about whatever was going on. He just took it and rolled with it.

“Where exactly is  _ here _ ?”

“The mansion, just—“

His head was clear now.

The  _ mansion!? _ The one that Tony had in Malibu? The one that was completely across the country? 2,800 miles away?

“Tony, that’s a five hour flight, why do—“

“Brucey, listen. You know me. You know I wouldn’t wake you from your beauty sleep in the wee hours of the morning if it wasn’t important.”

“I do know you, and you called me three times in the middle of the night last Thursday!”

“So I get a little carried away sometimes, sue me—“

He was getting tired of this game. Tony was obviously near desperation, yes, he could sense that much, but didn’t want to tell him what it was about, which meant it was something bad. Either Tony couldn’t tell him over the phone or didn’t want him thinking about it. 

Regardless, it  _ was _ important, so he figured that he probably  _ should _ get over there. Because, Tony was right, well, partially. He wouldn’t sound this frantic and rushed if it could have waited ’til morning.

“All right, all right. I’ll be on my way. Let me wake up, get some coffee, pack some clothes—how long am I staying?”

“No time for that! There’s coffee on the jet, and I can have someone pack your bags for you. We need you in three hours.”

Oh. Oh this was not good. This was  _ time sensitive _ ? 

This wasn’t about  _ Bruce _ , this was about something else, something that required his attention.

He slipped into his slippers and headed for the elevator.

“Okay Tony, I assume there’s a cab waiting for me?”

“I called the moment you answered.”

The doors dinged open.

“See you soon, Tony.”

“Back at ya, Green.”

The driver already knew where to take him, and Tony had already transferred cash into the guy’s account. Bruce was just surprised to see that Tony called a regular Taxicab driver, instead of one of his personal lackeys. Guess they were the fastest ride. Just how  _ desperate _ was Tony? How many times did he call?

He checked his missed calls, and was a bit taken aback that Tony’s first call came through just after midnight. He’d been trying to reach Bruce for five hours.

Bruce tried calling him again once he was on the jet, but Tony didn’t answer. So he was probably busy. Whatever it was sounded real important, so he understood and didn’t call back.

For four hours. 

He was almost there, another twenty minutes, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know what to do:  _ exit the aircraft, get in the car waiting, get to the mansion, and be debriefed there.  _ But he didn’t like all the waiting, and not knowing, and what if this was a problem he wasn’t able to assist with? What if this problem was a problem that  _ only _ he could fix? What if this was a trap, and some terrorist threatened Pepper’s life if Tony didn’t make the call to get him over there?

Fact of the matter was Bruce was walking in blind without a debriefing. He had absolutely no idea what to expect. For all he knew, Steve and that new friend of his found that old friend of his and he needed a good hulk slam.  Which was completely impossible. No way would Stark have called him to the mansion for that. He would have gone outside to the water,  _ at least _ .

Regardless, of what the problem was or what it wasn’t, Bruce steeled himself to be completely surprised by it, since he had  _ no earthly idea _ .

And true enough, he was. The moment the front doors opened for him, he could hear screaming, and he knew for sure  _ that  _ wasn’t good.

Who was screaming? 

He followed the sounds, and as he got closer to the stairs, he had to stop and take a breath. It was louder by the top of the stairs, not only because he was closer, but also because the bend and shape of the stairwell amplified the sound.

At the bottom of the stairs, just inside Tony’s mechanical lab/garage, were several large hospital-grade medical units. The desks and tables and machines that normally took up Tony’s floorspace were pushed neatly against the far wall, blocking his cars in.

He saw an EKG machine by an electrosurgical unit, patient monitors and an anesthesia machine, some surgical lights by a surgical table, and then there was the matter of the patient bed. 

There was clearly someone on it, and that was most likely where the screaming was coming from, but he couldn’t see the patient through the crowd surrounding. Tony was on the opposite side holding the body still, though it didn’t look like he was using much force. Sam was wrapping a leg in gauze at the foot of the bed. The third body looked like Steve, if the slump of his shoulders gave anything away. Bruce couldn’t tell what he was doing.

Until he got closer. 

Tony noticed him, and must have said something, which prompted Steve to turn and glance his way, but Bruce heard nothing but the sounds Loki was making, pitiful whimpers, which was a blessed change from the screams he heard a moment ago.

So they finally found him. Took long enough.

He stood near Sam, at the foot of the bed, and gazed over Loki. He hadn’t really been into Thor’s search for his missing brother; the only thing he knew was that the guy went missing from his cell. He figured he’d escaped, but he wasn’t one of the get-out-and-go Avengers. He didn’t transform into the Hulk every weekday and fight crime from nine to five. He wreaked too much havoc. 

Thor understood why he had not wanted to be involved in the search.

But now he wondered what he’d missed. Was this what Tony didn’t want to tell him over the phone?

_ Obviously _ , what else could it have been!?

Whatever happened to Loki, it was bad. 

Sam was wrapping some injury to his leg, blood was soaking through the bandages already, and Bruce wondered if maybe the screaming was the result of  _ that _ wound. But there were also bandages on his torso—his  _ entire _ torso, and they were also leaking through. How badly was this guy damaged?

He was sure there was more upon closer examination, but what struck him the most was that Loki wasn’t struggling, wasn’t fighting back. Sure, Tony was holding him down, but that looked more like he was trying to keep him from squirming or twitching. 

Steve had papers in his hand that he was reading through—papers that Bruce assumed had to do with the situation somehow, but couldn’t fathom how.

“Um, Tony?” He started, slowly and quizzically, “What’s going on?”

“Steve found Loki, and he’s in rough shape. We need you, Mr. Pediatrician, to patch him up.”

That made sense, sort of.

“…Pediatrician?”

Steve turned toward him, and Tony didn’t bother replying.

“We found  _ some _ documents about the procedures, but from what I pieced together from the non-redacted parts, it’s more of an overview of multiple projects, like a proposal. There are no details.”

“So, I’ve got nothing really to work with in regards of possible internal injuries,” he toned it like a statement on purpose, yet Tony contradicted him.

“Not quite. I’ve pieced together some documents about details of procedures, like emails from colleague to colleague, asking questions to the next shift or something. Like Steve said, a lot of it has been redacted. I have more on my computer that I haven’t gone through yet.”

Loki was just shaking now, laying still and quiet. 

Upon closer examination, he was a complete mess. He wasn’t wearing clothes, so the shaking could be from the chill, but considering his biological ancestry, it was doubtful. His pallor was both far too pale and far too flushed, possibly from a fever, and there were bruises all over his limbs, especially his wrists and ankles. That must’ve been where the restraints were. 

But Loki was losing blood fast. Bruce didn’t have time to stare and check. He needed to work.

“Did you get a sterilizer and gloves?”

“Yeah, behind you on the desk.”

Bruce excused them all from the room and began his work.

Thankfully, Loki didn’t fight him.


	2. Fundamentals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the timeline deviates from the typical chronological order.

_Sometimes, the scientists would put stuff inside him, inside his arms, and inside his blood. He couldn’t understand what they were saying to each other, but he knew what they were doing from --_ somewhere _._

_Sometimes, they would inject stuff that made his veins burn—burn from too much heat inside him or burn from acid wash._

_Sometimes they would inject stuff that made the pain go away for a little bit, and he relished in those moments. Sometimes the chemicals would make him really hot, like his veins were on fire and he was burning from the inside out. Sometimes it would make him feel dizzy and disoriented, like he couldn’t think properly (he thinks they would give him that to make him stop talking, but that was at the beginning and he couldn’t really remember much anymore). Sometimes the stuff was pure acid and he’d scream and wail and he would be pretty sure his veins were dissolving._

_But sometimes, they’d give him stuff that helped him remember things and be more coherent. He both enjoyed those moments and hated them. The clearer his mind became, the clearer he could see every minute detail of the doctor’s eyes, the clearer he could hear the machines and the rapid beating of his own heart (and sometimes even the beating of his captor’s hearts), the clearer he could feel the needles puncturing his skin and the tears freezing to his skin. It was agony after so long without coherency._

_But he could think clearer, could remember who he was and why he was here, could remember who_ left him here, _and could think about how easy it would be for him to escape. He could_ think _._

_He had no idea if they knew how their drug affected his mind, but he certainly would not give the trick away so soon. So he kept up pretenses, unfocused his eyes, moved slowly, and watched them converse amongst themselves. He was surprised to see a man not wearing white, at all, but a grey three piece suit—_

_And he could understand what they were saying._

_“—even_ tried _to!? He’s delirious most of the time anyway, won’t even fight back.”_

_“But sir, he’s an unknown species. The machine might not affect him the same way—“_

_“Well, then, I suggest you do tests and calibrate the machine before the initial run.”_

_“We’d have to run diagnostics on his_ brain, _and as far as we know, dissecting_ that _organ could_ kill _him.”_

_A third voice interrupted the conversation he’d been enjoying, from an unknown entity dressed entirely in black, surprising him. He’d been too excited about being able to_ understand _that he hadn’t assessed the entire room._

_“My apologies, but subject A2 is showing signs of increased clarity, effects contrary to the previous reports.”_

_All heads turned and eyes looked straight at him. He didn’t bother to hide the fact that that statement was true._

_A doctor came closer and shined a penlight in his eyes, from which he cringed away, then the doctor wrote something down and walked behind him, out of sight. He returned his eyes to the other men, still watching him. The man in black had his face blanked in neutral disdain, stood straight and tall, and he thought perhaps this man was a soldier, probably protecting the man in grey._

_He knew he wouldn’t be able to escape at that time, his cover blown already, but he could still formulate a plan for the next time._

_But he didn’t have time to properly think it through. The doctor appeared at his side with a needle full of more drugs, more_ poison _, and he didn’t bother struggling—a lesson he learned near the beginning._

_And then the pain returned._

_But after a moment of breathing through it, he could focus enough to still hear the men across the room, barely, but still understandable._

_That soldier still watched him, though, and soon, they left, talking about taking the conversation away from prying ears._

_So they knew he was a conscious being, then._

_—_

Steve hadn’t been to a baseball game since the 30s. He figured it was time to feel all-American again. He also missed the classic tinfoil-wrapped hotdog from the concession stands— _boy_ , nothing beat those in iconic foods.

He’d been wanting to get out and go see one for quite a while now, but he’d just been too wrapped up in being an Avenger. Before that, it was figuring out how to adjust to this new world, and before that, it was the war. He just hadn’t had a good chunk of time to spare.

And then there was the adjustment period, the confusion, because the Dodgers weren’t in Brooklyn anymore, so should he root for a different team, one more close to home, or should he keep with them, stay loyal, because LA was only an hour away?

He was undecided, so whenever he could, he’d turn the radio to a game, or he’d change the channel on the TV, scoping out the different teams, figuring out who he wanted to root for.

He liked to think of himself impartial when it came down to it, but he knew in his heart that he’d always have a soft spot for the Dodgers, regardless of where they were.

But they were so far away from home, from Brooklyn, he didn’t want to just on principle. Yet at the same time, Tony’s house was only an hour away from their new location…

Ah, see? He just couldn’t decide.

So, out of the blue, one day he decided to ask Loki for his opinion.

The man, though odd and devious, really seemed to have changed to where there really wasn’t anything left in him of the pompous god that stormed Manhattan two years ago. He wasn’t friendly, per se, meaning he didn’t really come up to you, pat you on the back, and strike up an interesting conversation, but he also wasn’t _not_ friendly. Sometimes, he’d ask if you wanted to play a game, or ask if you wanted ice cream too, or ask for help should he need it. He seemed to have really developed deeper into who he was, what he liked and didn’t like, and hobbies and such.

Steve enjoyed his company. He was much quieter and more calm than some of the others, and he seemed genuinely thoughtful, taking Steve’s interests in mind when he does things, too.

Perhaps he’d have an option on baseball that could finally sway Steve once and for all.

Then he wondered: did Loki even know what baseball was? Did they _have_ baseball on Asgard? If they did, would Loki remember it?

Well, if he didn’t know, Steve would educate him.

He just needed to find the opportune moment, because randomly springing a strange question like that on someone just wasn’t something Steven Rogers did.

So he waited.

And completely forgot about asking.

Until, one Saturday evening, Tony was away with Pepper in New York, Bruce was at the Baxter building in Manhattan, and Thor was in New Mexico visiting Jane. The house felt quieter, more calm, so Steve popped a bag of popcorn while waiting for the Dodger’s game to come back from a commercial.

Loki, looking fresh from a shower, sat down beside him and asked what he was watching.

“The Dodgers’ game.”

Since he couldn’t eat popcorn, Steve handed him his uncracked can of Coke.

“Thank you.”

He cracked it and took a drink. Even though he couldn’t taste it, Loki’d taken a liking to carbonated drinks because he liked the way the bubbles felt in his mouth.

“What is this?” He asked, pointing to the TV.

Oh, right. He probably had no idea what baseball was! How could Steve have forgotten?

“Baseball. Ever heard of it?”

Loki shook his head.

“It’s a game. There are two teams. One team throws a ball at the other, who has to hit it and run around the bases, while the other team has to get the ball and stop them. It’s really fun!"

They sat and watched the entire game. Loki watched intently, observing the details of how it was played. Steve occasionally paused it to explain the minutia of it, the physics and talent that went into playing well. He even stopped to explain _why_ a player messed up.

“Why do people watch it on the television? Why not go see it in person?” Loki had asked.

“Not everybody has the opportunity.” The game was over, so he tapped the TV to turn it off, then turned back toward Loki, “The stadium only holds a finite number of people, so everybody who wants to go might not be able to fit.” He grabbed the empty bowl and coke can and threw them away before continuing, “The tickets also cost money that a lot of people can’t afford to spend.”

He leaned against the counter of the peninsula toward Loki, who had stretched himself to his full height, standing on the other side.

Steve’s mind wandered on him.

It was different, seeing Loki stand on his own two legs after all that time. Different, but good. There was definitely more than a little pride in his chest when he thought about Loki coming back to full health.

When Bruce had initially looked him over the day they brought him in, he said said that Loki’s legs would take several months to heal. Thor had scoffed, saying that Asgardians healed much much faster than mortals, and that Loki should be healed within the week.

Well, it seemed they had both been wrong.

Two months. It had taken two months for Loki’s legs to heal to this point, where he could put some weight on them and they wouldn’t break apart. Now, Loki just needed to redevelop his muscles so that they’d hold his weight.

Before he left with Pepper, Tony had whipped up some leg braces for Loki, designed to take most of his body weight and distribute it directly into the ground, nearly bypassing the legs entirely so that Loki could still freely move around and strengthen his muscles.

Loki had been wearing them ever since, overjoyed to not be confined to a wheelchair anymore. Of course, he’d probably also love to not need the braces, but that’d just come with time and exercise. Which is something he’d been doing quite a lot--well, _a lot_ compared to his previous exercise routine.

At first, he could barely walk from his bed to his bathroom with the little strength he had, but now, only five days later, he’s being doing two laps around the balcony a day, one in the morning, and one after dinner, along with walking himself everywhere _and_ up at least one flight of stairs. Steve has been keeping an eye on him, being close just in case he pulled a muscle or overexerted himself, which only happened once, on the first day. Loki had been careful. He knew his limits.

Still, Steve was inwardly proud. Look how far he’s come!

He could walk again!

Loki pulled him out of his thoughts, “—the teams are to gather?”

“Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Say that again?”

“Are there designated areas where the teams are to gather?”

“Oh, yes. Every team has their own stadium or field, and there are teams all across the country. The team on whose field the game is played is called the Home Team and the other team is the Visiting Team. There’s a field in Los Angeles, the Dodgers stadium. It’s only about an hour from here.”

Then Steve got an idea.

Dodger Stadium was _only_ an hour away. He knew because he has done his research. He wanted to go see a game.

Loki was rather curious about baseball, too, so maybe he’d like to go as well.

It would do him some good, get out of the house, breathe fresh air—not that he hasn’t been doing those things! The balcony provides fresh air (Loki and Thor often go sit out there together), and Loki sometimes runs errands with Sam when he comes by. He just hasn’t done it much. Social interaction is the key—

None of the Avengers really _knew_ what was going to happen with Loki when he fully recovered. Was he going to stay here at the house playing Nanny? Was he going to go back to Asgard? Was he going to move into a condo, get a job, and integrate himself into society?

They had ideas, but as far as Steve knew, nobody had asked him about any of them yet.

Maybe Loki’s thought about it, maybe he hasn’t, but one thing’s still sure: Loki needs social interaction. It’s good for everybody!

So, yeah. Steve decided to take Loki to a baseball game.

In fact, there was another one tomorrow night, last game versus the Padres in the season. He just needed to acquire tickets.

…but how?

JARVIS.

JARVIS could do it for him.

He perked up, caught Loki’s eyes, and said, “I’ll be back later. There’s something I have to do.”

He’d leave it as a surprise for now. Loki liked surprises.

So, he went down to Tony's workshop.

“JARVIS, are there tickets for tomorrow’s Dodgers game still available?”

“Of course, sir. 26,000 seats remain.”

“Perfect. I want to buy two.”

“Shall I have them overnighted, or would you like to pick them up at the entrance?”

“I’ll pick them up there. Thank you JARVIS.”

“Of course, sir. What name shall I reserve them under?”

“My name, Steve Rogers.”

“Very well, sir. Transaction complete.”

“Thanks, again!”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Steve kept the secret easily, texted Tasha, Clint, and Sam that he was taking Loki out the following morning, and arranged for a cab to pick them up at 11 sharp.

Come ten in the morning and Loki knew something was up.

Steve didn’t know how he knew, because nothing conversation wise came up at all regarding anything to do with baseball or going out, but Loki asked, “Where are we going?”

Steve briefly entertained the thought of lying to keep the ruse, but he decided against it. He didn’t like lying and there wasn’t much of a point. The secret was out, so just be disappointed and go with it.

“To the Dodger’s game. I bought tickets last night. You and me.”

Loki looked disbelieving at first, but the quickly changed into a smile.

Was he excited? He didn’t say anything.

“Do you want to go?”

Loki pinched his eyebrows, looking confused to why Steve would even ask that, “Of course.”

It was Steve’s turn to smile. “Good,” he said, “I made lunch we can eat when we’re hungry—“ of course he wasn’t going to eat a hot dog in front of Loki. That’d just be cruel. Steve knew he could go again some other time, but for now, he didn’t care about the hot dogs, just made himself a PB&J and Loki a smoothie, and he set the insulated lunch bag on the counter by Loki. “—and our cab will be here in an hour.”

Loki waited for him to stop, so he wouldn’t interrupt, “But I can’t go.”

Steve almost started, but didn’t. Loki wasn’t finished, “What if someone recognizes me? I’m supposed to be in prison.”

Steve hadn’t considered that, but nonetheless, “Don’t worry. You look completely different from before. Nobody is going to recognize you. You were on the news _briefly_ two _years_ ago. They won’t even remember you. It’ll be fine."

There wasn’t any actual footage of Loki’s attack on Manhattan, but they put a few candid shots of him along with his mugshot on the news during his trial and subsequent incarceration, but there’s been nothing public since. Tony had been scouring every nook and cranny for info on Loki when he went missing, and back then, the last piece of information on him that they had uncovered was a blurry photo of Loki trading a pack of cigarettes to an inmate a month after his trial. And that hadn’t even been on the TV.

No. Loki had nothing to worry about.

_If_ someone remembered the insane alien that tried to take over the world, the picture their minds would conjure would be different from how Loki looked now: shorter hair, glasses, skinnier…

If one of them was spotted, it’d be Steve as Captain America. But he doubted that’d happen either—he didn’t think he’d ever been in the public eye without his helmet to shield his face.

So, they were going to be just fine.

“Trust me,” he gently gripped Loki’s shoulder, then let go and said, “it’ll be all right.”

Loki nodded, face blank, and slid onto the stool.

A different, more important question would be, could Loki walk that much and climb all the stairs to their seats?

“There will be stairs, a lot of them. Think you can handle it?”

Loki took a minute to consider. Steve grabbed two smoothies from the fridge, one for Loki and one for him.

“I think I can manage. I might need help near the top, but I’ll try my best.”

Loki admitted that with such humility, Steve’s pride was flaring up again. He was alway one to root for the little guys, the underdogs, the ones that are able to recognize their weakness.

Loki has changed into a person so different from who he was before, and Steve just wanted to show the world, make the world remember him just so that they could see his character development and accept him, too.

It’s all thanks to his magic that he was able to be here and be standing. His magic was the only thing that kept him alive through it all. Without it, Loki would have died from the torture back in—

No. Steve didn’t want to think about that, didn’t like _accidentally_ thinking about it.

However…

“How are you healing?”

That was always a concern, ever-present at the forefront of his mind, and will be until Bruce cleared him.

“Well. Not fast enough, but I have no pain.”

_Not fast enough?_

“Not fast enough? Bruce said your legs would take _six_ _months_. You’re healing very, very fast.”

“Maybe so. There is just a feeling that it should not take this long.”

“But you can’t remember?”

Loki shook his head, and was still for a short moment.

“I remember…”

Loki looked like he’d zoned out, staring unfocused at some spot behind Steve’s head, and Steve wasn’t sure if he should let Loki pull himself out of his head, or if he should interrupt his thoughts. Maybe thinking about remembering triggered a memory?

“…I healed quickly…”

So maybe it wasn’t a good memory, then. He tapped Loki’s arm to get his attention, so he’d focus on what Steve was trying to sign. Loki’s eyes moved back toward him, still somewhat out of focus.

“Do you remember much about that place?”

Perhaps this wasn’t a good trail for Loki to be following, and Steve had sent him down the rabbit hole himself.

Loki wasn’t completely absorbed into a flashback, because he was still able to think and converse.

“Yes. So much. Everything. They liked how quickly I healed, like I felt no pain…” Steve waited, watching closely; Loki just breathed deeply as normal.

So he’s not panicking, not falling into a flashback.

Dissociation! That’s what this was. Steve had read about it, somewhere, had skipped through half the section, but this was so calm, so _off_ , like a picture frame tilted just slightly to where you couldn’t really tell if it was straight or not, but you just had the _feeling_ that it wasn’t.

That’s what this was.

“I know they know I felt it. They didn’t care.”

Another pause.

Steve didn’t like this, didn’t want Loki thinking about this, but maybe it was good for him to talk about it. He knew it was for him, back then, before the serum. Bucky was always there, ready to lend an ear when he needed to. That’s what he told himself he would do for Loki. Lend an ear when needed.

“They wanted to mold me, into something different, into some mindless assassin. They had a machine, tested it, and I couldn’t remember things—“ Loki must be absorbed in the memory, signing so fast Steve could barely catch it all, “—but sometimes I could. They did it again, several times, and I couldn’t even remember my own name.”

He stopped, focused his eyes again on Steve.

He felt the need to say something, contribute to the conversation so that it wasn’t one-sided, so that Loki wasn’t alone in this.

“Your memories are coming back. That’s good news.”

Loki nodded, “Yes, very good. But sometimes I still forget things, as if my mind forgets that I remembered them.”

“What do you mean?”

“The machine taught my mind how to clean my memory, scrub it away, so that now, my mind does it all on its own.”

“You forget things, even now, without that machine?”

“Yes. All the time. I forget where I am, who Thor is, who _you_ are. However, it does come back to me, always, after a time.”

That wasn’t good news. Although, it did answer several questions about Loki’s odd behavior sometimes.

“Thor didn’t tell you?”

Of _course_ Thor knew. Thor was the one Loki talked to about this, the one who asks Loki questions, the one who is always with him. Thor was Loki’s therapist already.

There was a stab of disappointment at that thought, like Steve subconsciously wanted himself to be Loki’s pseudo-therapist, like _he_ wanted that relationship with him. But it was already taken.

“No. Maybe he told Tony or Bruce, I don’t know. I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What? No, don’t be. It’s not your fault at all.”

Loki nodded, but Steve continued before Loki changed the subject, “Thank you. For opening up to me. It made me feel special.”

Loki smiled, pushed his glasses higher on his nose, then said, “Come get me when we need to leave. I’m going to read.”

Forty-five minutes later, the cab pulls up a minute and a half early, and Steve yells for Loki.

...Only for Clint to call back from… somewhere, “He’s deaf, you idiot! I’ll get him.”

Steve was content to just watch the buildings pass by in the hour-long ride there. It was something he always did. When he was younger, he could never afford glasses, so he’d watch through the window with blurry eyesight, imagining what he could have been seeing. Then he was given the serum, and he could see so clearly, watching the buildings was fun for a different reason.

It’d only been a few years for him since then, but he had yet to tired of it.

Loki had brought his book, and Steve wasn’t sure what they were going to do with it when they had to leave the cab. Loki would just have to hold on to it in the stadium.

He did.

Wouldn’t let Steve carry it for him either.

The cabbie dropped them off as close to the front gate as he could get them; crowds and lines of people trying to buy tickets and get in were blocking a portion of the road. But still, they didn’t have to walk far at all.

They stood in line for about twenty minutes, and Steve could tell Loki was already tiring, just standing there. There was no way Loki would be able to make it up those stairs—although! Steve didn’t yet know where their seats were. JARVIS hadn’t told him when he bought them, and he hadn’t thought to specify which ones he wanted.

However, Loki wasn’t complaining.

Steve had to remind himself that Loki knew his own limits and hasn’t hesitated to alert someone when he was unable to complete a task because of them. He had to have faith in Loki, believe that he could do this.

He _could_.

He was given the tickets: LG149 E4 and E5.

Somewhat in the middle, so there’d be stairs, yes, but not as many as there could have been.

He gave Loki the ticket, and he slid it into his book.

“Let’s go.”

He did tire, but he didn’t stop. Slowed down, but kept at it. By the time they reached their seats, Loki slumped down, exhausted, sweat glistening near his hair.

“Hey. You did it!” Steve tried to encourage him, and Loki sort of smiled, more of an exhausted grimace, but Steve knew what he meant.

“I need the restroom, but I can’t get up yet.”

Oh…

Well, “I could help you there, if you want.”

Loki scrunched his eyebrows, drawing his lips into an affronted look, “No, Thank you, I’ll just wait.”

Steve shrugged. Loki will be Loki. If he wets his pants, it’s his problem to deal with.

He just turned his attention to the game.

Steve had underestimated the ticket time, so the game had already started. It was still the first inning, though, so they hadn’t missed much.

He took the moment to enjoy this air, closed his eyes and smelled the smell of a baseball stadium, the sounds, and the way the hard chair felt. It was all the same from the 30s, nothing fundamental had changed, so he sat there and basked in the nostalgia, welcoming the reminiscence of _home_.

Then he opened his eyes and gazed at Loki.

He was watching the players, not intently, but not loosely either. Indulged, perhaps, sitting up a little straighter in his seat, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve.

There was a _crack_ and Steve turned his attention to the players on the field.

The ball had been hit!

The player rounded first base before the ball arrived, but didn’t quite make it to second.

Out.

Oh, _boy_ , had he missed that rush of adrenaline while watching the action, the suspense of waiting for the ball to be hit!

A man sat near them and he could smell the foil-wrapped stadium dog.

His stomach growled as he realized he left their food at the house.

Loki just laughed when he told him.

**—**

_He didn’t know what was happening._

_They sewed him up and wrapped his broken bones, and then transferred him to a moving table._

_It wasn’t hard, like the other one. It was soft and comfortable._

_They moved him into a different room, smaller, and darker, but he couldn’t determine, honestly, if it was new or not. His ears still weren’t healed, and his eyes were more sensitive than usual from their latest experiments._

_And he knew he kept forgetting things._

_So, it could be the same room. He thought it probably was._

_But It was moving, vibrating. He could feel it through his soft bed, through his bones, could_ hear _it, too, somehow._

_He was sure it was a different room._

_Something happened, suddenly. The room rumbled too much, and his bed fell over—_

_When he woke up, he wasn’t restrained on the table in the room, which confused him._

_He was propped up against a wall, wearing clothes, and_ not in the room _._

_He didn’t know what was going on, and that scared him. But that also gave him hope, because_ he was not in the room _._

_He didn’t remember how he got there. Of course._

_Forgetting things didn’t surprise him anymore._

_There was a man approaching him, a man that wasn’t wearing the same colorless attire as the scientists, but bright red and dark colors, and was saying something. What was he saying?_

_His mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out._

_The man kneeled down next to him and reached out toward him._

_He was going to touch him._

_No! Nobody needs to touch him! Never again!_

_He flinched away, shied the opposite direction, sliding against the wall, until he landed on his side. There was an explosion inside him, pain all inside his chest, fire writhing across his ribs._

_He thought he yelled or made some sort of noise, but he didn’t hear anything._

_The pain blinded him. He couldn’t see!_

_He tried to curl up, to escape the hands he could feel on him_ always on him never stopping _but it hurt, everything hurt, so he stopped moving, just laid there, waiting for the man to do something._

_Nothing happened._

_He waited until most of the pain had subsided, then cracked his eyes open._

_Thor was still kneeling there, hands outstretched like he wanted to touch him, but not moving._

_His mouth was still moving, and he realized why there was nothing coming out._

_He couldn’t hear._

_He remembered the scientists—they were doing something, examining his ears, wanting him to hear something—_

_That didn’t matter, anymore. He wasn’t there. That much was clear._

_Had Thor gotten him away?_

_Had Thor heard his pleas?_

_Thor still knelt there, mouth moving, and he wanted to tell him that he couldn’t hear, and he tried to, but_ he couldn’t hear _._

_Thor’s hand came near him, and he held still, knew Thor wouldn’t hurt him._

_He gently set him upright against the wall again. When he caught Thor’s eyes, he smiled._

_He must be dreaming. That had to be what this was._

_Thor’s hand came up and brushed back a stray strand of hair, leaving his hand around his neck in that oh so familiar gesture that radiated warmth and security, and suddenly, he realized that he missed Thor, really truly missed him, and loved him, and he started crying, because Thor was there, with him,_ for _him, and then Thor sat beside him and put his arm around him while he cried into his shoulder._

_They sat there for a while, until Thor pulled him into a comfortable carry, and they left wherever it was they had been. He didn’t know, didn’t look, head still against Thor’s firm shoulder, eyes closed._

_Thor had been carrying him a while before things started happening._

_He knew they’d come for him._

_He knew escaping had been too good to be true._

_Perhaps this was a dream after all._

_Thor jostled him a bit, moving him onto only one arm for support, and he held on tighter._

_He squeezed his eyes shut._

_If he didn’t see what was happening, it couldn’t haunt his dreams._

_But then Thor put him down, broke contact and let him go. So he opened his eyes._

_He was right. They had come for him._

_He didn’t move, just stayed as still as he could, and tried not to watch._

_Thor hit a few of them; a few of them hit Thor. He couldn’t really see all that well, so when Thor went down, he couldn’t figure out why._

_He remembered Thor, remembered him from_ before _, remembered him from when they were brothers away in a golden city._

_He remembered that Thor was very strong and very tough, so why did he fall?_

_Why was Thor not getting back up?_

_They came near him, and he tried to squirm, tried to struggle, tried to get away, but everything still hurt, every broken bone refused to move correctly, and he was pretty sure he was screaming, he could feel his lungs working, could feel the air being pushed out, but he still couldn’t hear anything._

_They grabbed his arms, wrenched them upwards and out, and it hurt, he wasn’t even sure what part of him hurt anymore, but they dragged him forward, too fast, and his legs that wouldn’t work and wouldn’t stop hurting grazed over a fallen body engulfed in bright red and dull yellow and he couldn’t remember why there was a man on the ground couldn’t remember why he was so very sad that that man was on the ground—_

_But then he was back on his back, on a comfortable table, and the room was vibrating again._

_He couldn’t remember how he got there._

—

He was so tired of sorting through all the very many files that Sam had sent to JARVIS.

Not only had he read through and sorted all the HYDRA files Nat uploaded, now the guys were depending on him reading through and sorting _more_ files.

Well, yes, of course he could write a program to sort it for him—in fact, that’s exactly what he did after the Triskelion incident. But there were still so many files, and they needed to know what was in them. He wasn’t a sadist, and he didn’t enjoy the thought of his greatest enemy suffering to this extent, but they needed to know what had been done to him, so that Bruce could attempt a surgery to fix it. And if there was nothing to fix? They needed to know that too.

Bruce already figured out why Loki doesn’t respond when spoken to. Tony already figured out that Loki can’t really hear what they say half the time, and he just read that Loki’s eyes seemed to have been permanently damaged—the scientists weren’t too happy that he hadn’t healed from _that_ experiment.

So the poor guy was practically blind, practically deaf, and mute.

It was a good thing the Captain was trying to teach him Morse Code. Then, at least _someone_ would be able to talk to the guy.

In fact, Tony was rather curious with how that was going.

The beaten down god had been his resident for four days, and yet, he’d barely moved, barely communicated via head-shake, and had a very worried thunder god at his beck and call—if he’d just _use him_.

Tony knew, if _he_ had someone like that at his elbow, he’d use the guy like a servant, fetching things, and getting food, and keeping him busy with all sorts of unimportant things. He’d probably play a practical joke or two, even.

Loki’s improvised hospital room had been set up right across the hall from his lab, in a very small storage room, emptied of course and then refilled with equipment needed to keep the guy alive.

The room was already somewhat small, and Steve and Thor were already in there, so Tony didn’t want to impose in case an attack of claustrophobia hit anybody. He just stood by the door.

Steve was tapping away on Loki’s palm, Loki’s eyes were closed probably in concentration, and Thor was against the wall, watching and holding an unopened cup of yogurt. Must soon be lunchtime.

“So I figured out something that might be important,” he started, just letting them know he was there.

Steve ignored him while Thor turned and gave him his full attention.

“Does it concern my brother’s health?”

“Very much so, actually. Cap, wanna join us?”

His response was a bit delayed; Cap was probably trying to concentrate too.

“Already in a conversation, Tony.”

Tony saw that coming, just wanted to give Steve the chance. He addressed Thor, “Loki can’t see very well,” he paused to let that sink in. Thor said nothing, so he continued, “After an experiment with chemicals, his eyes just wouldn’t heal. Good news though, those wanna-be doctors were furious with their mistake, washed and cleaned his eyes, and allowed them to heal as much as they could. So, by observation, it seems like he can see _some_ stuff, but still can’t see _most_ stuff.”

“That makes a lot of sense. Thank you, Tony.” Was it even possible for Thor’s face to look any more concerned? Yes, apparently so. What a surprise.

“Tell the captain for me, will you?” He patted Thor’s bicep, then turned to leave, but Steve stopped him.

“No need. I heard most of it,” he stood and turned to Thor, “Loki said he likes the yogurt. It’s just hard to swallow.”

Thor answered, “I can get something else, something not so thick.”

Steve shook his head, “No, I mean, he has a hard time swallowing in general, swallowing _anything_.”

Tony cut in, “Is he able to communicate _that well_ after only a couple days with this code?” Cause if so, the guy’s sending Tony running for his money. Dead-weight has no business being _this_ beaten, injured, and crippled and _still_ being that quick-thinking and intelligent. That’s Tony’s area of expertise, and he was the king of it. He’d rather not give up his crown to an _alien_.

Steve shook his head again, “Not really. It takes him a while to think and decipher what I’m trying to say. Sometimes, he just doesn’t get it at all. We’ve—“ he motioned to Thor, “—been here almost an hour trying to ask him what he thinks of _yogurt_ , and all he tapped out was, ‘yes’. I asked him if he felt sick and he said, ‘hard swallow often’. Three words. That’s all I’ve gotten from him today.”

Thor approached Loki slowly, opening the cup and dipping a spoon in. Tony didn’t listen to what Thor was saying, just asked Steve, “How are you asking the questions—verbally or with code?”

“Verbally. It’d take too long with code, so he shakes his head ‘yes’ or ‘no’ if he understands when I speak.”

Hmm, maybe he’s not able to hear the question well, or its a mental issue. Which brings to mind something else Tony had read, about experiments concerning Loki’s brain, things that made him shiver uncomfortably. How Loki was still alive after those trials could only be attributed to magic. Somehow. Perhaps more research was in order.

Tony wanted to ask him about it. But should he? Is it okay to bring up torture to a torture victim this soon after rescue? He didn’t wait to think anymore on it. He wasn’t patient enough to listen to his thoughts.

“I wanna talk to him. Could you—“ he wiggled his fingers, “—translate?”

“Now?” Steve looked back. Thor was talking up a storm while Loki was eating the yogurt. Slowly.

“Uh, yeah. now.”

Steve just stared at him for a moment.

Then he went and said, “Tony, uh, wants to ask you a question.” Accompanied by hand gestures to help the deaf person understand, including gesturing toward him.

Thor and Loki looked at him. He smiled.

It was clear that Loki had no idea what he wanted, so he ran back to his workshop, grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, and ran back. They were all still waiting.

He scribbled, as neat as he could while hurrying, “Can I ask you a question?”

Then held it up for Cap and Thunder to see and passed it to Loki.

Who set it down on his bed and kept eating.

Did he even look at it?

Worry not, Thor spoke, “Loki doesn’t seem to be able to read easily.”

And Steve added, “We already tried that a few days ago.”

Of course they had. It was a good idea. Why hadn’t _he_ thought of that days ago? Oh, yeah, cause he was _going through all_ their _files._

He would just have to try harder to get Loki to hear him.

He said as much to Steve and Thor, who just shrugged and stepped back to allow him access to the bedside.

He tried to speak slowly and loudly, and Loki eventually nodded ( _after_ he had finished off the yogurt. Was he messing with them?), so Tony proceeded to his question, much the same way, “Did they hurt your brain?”

Loki just looked to Thor, who didn’t move, then back at him, still confused. He tapped his ear twice, as if to say, “I can’t hear.”

Tony then just said, “hurt” and with a closed fist, knocked on the back of his head.

That seemed to make sense. Loki’s body language _screamed_ uncomfortable, head down, eyes darting, but he didn’t otherwise react to the question.

No bother, Tony just took that as a _yes_.

He opened his mouth to ask if Loki could tell him about how he was alive, aware that that would probably be a sensitive question, and that Loki probably wouldn’t answer that one either. He expected Thor and Steve to be offended and shoo him away—

—But regardless, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he watched as Loki nodded, looked up, and reached toward Steve.

...he wasn’t expecting that.

Loki was _communicating_ , tapping on Steve—Morse Code, obviously. It was a funny thing to see—the once-god barely moving, except to tap slowly on the back of Cap’s hand. A bit surreal.

Yeah, they had told him that Steve had been teaching him that, but Tony hadn’t _fully_ believed it, until now that he saw it with his own eyes. Until then, he’d just assumed poor Rudolf was a shell, hollowed out with nothing left, huddled in a corner afraid of the world. _That_ was obviously untrue.

Steve called out a letter, “M” and Thor wrote it down. Several more letters were transcribed before Loki quit and looked up at Thor, a prompt to read it off.

“Make me forget.”

Loki turned his attention to Tony, still hunched in on himself, a look of pure misery etched into every detail.

He couldn’t be certain what Mr. Trauma here meant by that, but he could definitely take a guess. It could mean that Loki messed up his code and that he forgot what they’d done to him, forgot that they messed with his head. It could mean that the messing with his head made him forget stuff. It could mean that _they_ made him forget stuff. Or it could mean that he wanted them to make him forget.

The first option wasn’t as plausible as the others, simply because Steve and Thor seemed confident that that’s what Loki said, so he probably got it right. After all, he’d been successfully kinda-communicating with Steve, off and on.

The second option could mean that the experiments on his brain damaged his brain in a way that caused him to forget things—which made sense, if he thought about it. Since arriving here, Loki hadn’t seemed to recognize a single one of them—the heroes that fought him and put him in prison and who, Tony assumed, Loki probably blamed for putting him through all the torture. No, Loki hadn’t seemed to recognize a single one of them, except Thor. But everyone knew why Thor was special—they’d known each other for like a thousand years, grew up together, and were _brothers_. Obviously, Thor was special.

The third option probably meant that HYDRA devised a way to erase memories, or created a device that could erase memories. It could be an ongoing thing, something that even now, after having escaped, Loki still suffered from. THAT option certainly posed a huge threat. It meant that HYDRA still had it’s tentacles inside Loki’s brain…

The last option implied that Loki didn’t want the memories—memories of what?

The torture. Obviously. What a stupid question. Good thing he caught it before he voiced it.

So he didn’t want the memories of his torture, fair enough. That was completely understandable. What _they_ were supposed to do about it— Tony had no idea.

But which one did Loki mean?

Only one way to find out.

“What do you mean?” Tony asked.

Loki thought a minute, then tapped again:

“Hurt brain, hurt memories.”

So the experiments on his brain made him forget things. Interesting. Tony was pretty sure there was a document waiting for him in his garage detailing that exact experiment. There had to be. I mean, what kind of scientists _didn’t_ record experiments on an alien’s _brain_?

So he said his thanks for the info, and left, set Jarvis to search for files that contained anything relating to brain experimentation.

“Scanning. 3 percent complete. Seven minutes.”

Seven minutes?

“JARVIS, how many files you scanning through?”

“Two hundred and seventy-three thousand, four hundred and twenty two files, sir.”

Yikes.

“Keep up the good work. I’m going upstairs. Lemme know when it’s finished.”

“Will do, sir.”

He was on the fifth step from the top when JARVIS updated him, “Scan complete.”

_Computers_ , always overestimating how long things will take them.

He sat down and prepared himself for the horrors he was about to read.

The first document had the most hits, the most mentions, and from what he could tell, it came first. It didn’t seem like the doctors had tried it before, messing with Loki’s head. It talked about the removal of tiny slivers of the alien brain to see if they corresponded with a human’s brain. It talked about how they fully expected their specimen to die from it, and how they were utterly surprised that he hadn’t. It talked about the removal of larger portions of the brain in an effort to determine just how much the alien could regenerate and to determine what the behavior was for the different portions of the brain.

It was detailed, and Tony wanted to throw up.

So he did.

Then he kept reading.

Apparently, after the scientists got over their surprise of Loki still being alive, they had conducted the experiment again, this time observing and recording the process of the regeneration. It was a video file. Tony didn’t open it.

So Loki’s body is able to regenerate some stuff, but not other stuff. _What_?

How did that make sense?

The only conclusion he could come to is that magic was responsible—specifically, Loki’s magic, because the scientists didn’t possess those kinds of capabilities.

But Loki’s magic was bound. By his dad. Right?

Thus, Tony had a contradiction, which meant either that magic _wasn’t_ responsible, or that Odin _didn’t_ bind Loki’s magic.

Obviously, the former was impossible, leaving the latter.

So if Odin hadn’t bound Loki’s magic, the guy was practically a loose cannon, ready to go off at any time. He was still all-powerful. But then why hadn’t he used it to escape? Why had he allowed himself to be tortured? And why hadn’t he healed like that yet?

Something didn’t add up. There was clearly a piece of the puzzle missing.

Tony would normally just march in there and ask Loki himself, but that was a pain earlier, and he didn’t have the patience for it. Plan B would then be to ask Odin himself, but fat lot of good that’d do. He had no way of contacting the guy at all. Thor has to wait for _him_ to contact _them_.

_Thor!_

Maybe Thor had answers!

So he asked him, pulled him aside while Bruce checked up on the patient.

“Something’s not adding up with Loki.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a video of Loki’s brain regrowing to its full extent after an experiment, but people’s brains don’t just regrow. Which means magic is probably the answer. But didn’t your dad turn his magic wand off?”

“Yes, in a way. All Asgardians, all of us Aesir, are born with magic coursing through our veins. It is the cause of our long lives and great strength. It is what makes us. It cannot be removed without turning one mortal. My father didn’t remove my brother’s magic, he bound it.”

“Okay, what’s the difference?”

“Well, binding one’s magic doesn’t negate its existence, it just prohibits one from wielding it. Loki’s magic still lives within him, keeping him alive, however he cannot use it. It no longer pulses at his fingertips ready for a command—“ sparks of electricity flew across Thor’s fingertips, “—instead, it has been cut off and reduced to only thriving within.” He laid his hand flat against his chest.

Well, that certainly made more sense then.

Loki was still harmless, he just couldn’t die. Cool for the Avengers. Sucks for him.

That fixed the contradiction. The scientists didn’t know it, but they were studying the effects of magic.

However, that didn’t answer the question of what Loki meant by “make me forget.”

It’d make sense that Loki wouldn’t be able to remember things because he lost the memory portion of his brain, but it had regenerated, multiple times. It was still there.

He didn’t really get this part of science. He was a physicist, not a biologist.

A voice came over his shoulder, surprising him, but he didn’t show it, “What about Loki’s brain? Is it really just a bag full of cats?”

Bruce.

He spun his chair around, “Answer me this: If Loki’s memories are stored in his brain, but then that portion of the brain is removed—he’d lose his memories, right?”

Brucey here _was_ a biologist. At least, where it counted.

“Yes. What are you getting at?”

“But then his brain regrows or regenerates, whichever, so he’d have his memories _back_.”

Hesitation. Then, “Unless it regrew fresh and anew, without any memories.”

Hmm…

That’d work. That makes sense! Yes, that HAD to be what Loki meant!

“But,” Bruce started, “He still has _some_ memories. He and Thor had a conversation about their mother, who is dead apparently. Loki was very distraught, so avoid that subject for now.”

…So the guy had no memories, but then had some memories, but also doesn’t have some memories, because his brain was hurt, but then it regrew without some memories, but some memories were left.

_What_?

He wiped a hand down his face.

Nothing makes sense. Nothing makes sense at all.

“So his memories aren’t stored in the area of the brain that the scientists thought they were…?” It was a timid question, which he answered himself, “No, cause Loki said that they hurt his memories when they hurt his brain. There must be a one to one correspondence from human brains to alien brains. Which is a sentence I never imagined saying out loud.”

“So his memories _are_ stored in his brain. Have you considered backup storage?”

Backup storage? For memories?

“Brains don’t work that way. There’d have to be some sort of _magical_ device that transferred—“

“Tony.”

He turned to look at Bruce, “What?”

“You just said it. Ma—“

“Magic!”

Yes! That made even more sense!

He stood up in triumph over his revelation.

“Loki’s brain obviously houses his memories for reference and containment, but his magic serves as a backup, like his own personal Cloud! So when the scientists removed parts of his brain, they took the memories, but when his brain regrew, the backup—his magic—restored them.”

Yes! Everything made sense! So Loki was having trouble remembering things because—

No. His magic restored his memories. He shouldn’t be having trouble remembering things.

Ugh. These Asgardians were so complicated, full of contradictions that left no conclusions.

“But he can’t remember things because the backup is his magic, and his father bound his magic. So he can’t call on it whenever he wants. He has to wait for _it_ to give _him_ some memories,” Bruce was obviously the mastermind behind this whole operation. What was the point of Tony even being there?

Were there any _more_ holes that he needed Bruce to fill?

Let’s see:

Loki obviously was suffering from brain damage, as he had thought earlier. The brain damage came about when the scientists removed sections of his brain, which his magic, in an effort to keep him alive, regenerated and healed. The portions of his brain that were removed held his memories, but it was okay because his magic was his backup disc that restored his memories, except he can’t remember everything all at once because his father had bound his magic.

There didn’t seem to be any holes in his logic, and he asked Bruce so, who agreed.

So he went to tell Thor and Steve.


	3. How We Change

_ He didn’t mean to. _

_ He was so sorry, it was an accident. _

_ Everything hurt so much and it never stopped and he just wanted it to stop, but he didn’t want  _ this _. _

_ The man wasn’t moving, just lying there, blood pooling around his head.  _

_ He was huddled in a corner, behind the door that he couldn’t get open, staring at the body on the floor. _

_ He was dead, wasn’t he? He had hurt the scientist so much that he had died from it? _

_ He knew what it was like to be hurt, and he knew what it was like to be hurt so much that you wanted to die yet not being able to never being able to never being  _ allowed  _ to— _

_ He’s not supposed to hurt anybody anymore. He knew that he had hurt people before, lots of people, and really badly, but that wasn’t what he did anymore. He doesn’t hurt people! _

_ But he had, and the man  _ wasn’t moving _. _

_ He had taken advantage of their needing to get to his back—they had undone the restraints around his right arm and had thought him too docile to attack.  _

_ They had been wrong.  _

_ He attacked before he had a chance to think about what he was doing, and his arm was finally properly healed to its full strength. _

_ The man had hit the edge of the sink while the other had run out and locked the door. _

_ He kept telling himself that it wasn’t his fault, that the scientist had brought it upon himself, that maybe the scientist had just tripped and fell, but for as long as he lived, he’d never been able to lie well enough to deceive  _ himself _. _

_ Escaping was a bad idea if he hurt people in the process—but did it matter if the people he hurt  _ deserved  _ it? _

Yes.  _ Yes, it still mattered because hurt is hurt and even  _ he  _ would never hurt them the way they hurt him and he was sorry that he hurt the man the scientist  _ his  _ scientist—how could he have done that to him? _

—

Some days, the wheelchair was necessary. 

Some days, the motorized one. 

The wheelchair got on everybody’s nerves, and they really wished Loki would just use Stark’s motorized one instead, because if he forgot things while wheeling himself, others might not know about it to find him and help. When he was all there and okay, he’d be the same trickster that the myths talked about, going around the mansion and messing with things, and even though Clint kept complaining about it to Tony, Tony still refused to put a tracking device on the chair. 

Loki liked the non-motorized version better, because it helped give him his pride back. Voluntarily submitting himself to the workings of a machine to drive him around when he was very capable of doing so himself left him feeling helpless. And  _ that _ emotion most often sent him forgetting. 

Of course, he couldn’t tell anybody else of that. Of all the wondrous things his magic could still do while bound inside him, regenerating the nerves of his jaw and the thick, tongue muscle was take too much; it would need to be thoughtfully controlled. Same with his missing finger and tooth. Same with his useless ears.

It was a good thing that Clint was as observant and wary as he was. He figured nobody else could see those little quirks about Loki, and he knew it was because Loki had once been inside his head, so he understood the guy better than most of the other Avengers, probably even Thor. Or maybe it was because he understood the frustration of seeing people moving their mouths and not hearing a word they said.

There were also days where Loki would be physically unable to wheel himself, where his arms would tire and no matter hard he tried, he just couldn’t push himself anymore. On those days, the guy would just sit around and wait for someone to come help him, and he always hated it. Clint could see it in his face how very much he hated that he needed help.

The past two years must have been some  _ massive _ blow to his ego.

Clint knew everyone pitied Loki, hated to see him like this, and he also knew Loki hated the pity, hated that everyone had to see him like this, but Clint understood, where the others were still cautious, that Loki had fundamentally changed.

Yeah, sure he was still the god of Mischief, playing pranks on them often and driving them up the wall sometimes, but so far, Loki hadn’t hurt a single one of them, not even emotionally. He even seemed to hate it when something minor happened and someone was hurt  _ accidentally _ . 

It was seeing Loki flinch and wheel himself away when Steve slammed his thumb in a drawer in the kitchen with a soft shout that solidified the fact to Clint—Loki couldn’t mentally function when he himself was hurt and he no longer found enjoyment when others were hurt.  

That was when Clint decided that Loki could be trusted and that he didn’t hate the guy anymore. 

Was there anger still? 

Oh, yes, definitely. Whenever he just thought about what all happened  _ then _ , anger would surge through him and he’d look at that man, helpless and crippled and just seethe inside. In those moments, Clint could convince himself that Loki had deserved every little thing those scientists did to him, and then more, could convince himself that Loki wasn’t to be trusted, ever, that he’ll just turn on them the moment he’s healed, could convince himself that this was all a charade, that Loki wasn’t actually hurt, that he was just observing them, watching and waiting to overthrow them, probably even planning it. In those moments, Clint would walk away, go find an empty quiet place, and call his wife, talk to his kids, and calm down. 

He knew there was no way Loki was faking it. Rationally. He knew because that evil mastermind had bared himself to Clint, once, had been inside his head and traded thoughts. He knew Loki would never in his life humiliate himself like this, just on the off chance that he  _ might _ be able to win. 

So, he pitied Loki, above all else. 

And Clint hated that he sometimes wanted to forgive Loki. He used to be Loki’s #1 hate fan, thought Loki was the scum of the earth, using him to hurt his friends, actually hurting his friends… 

But now, Loki was docile most of the time, reeling from the torture and trauma of the past two years. What had been done to Loki was undeserved. Nobody deserved that kind of cruelty, not even the worst humanity had to offer. Sure, they deserved to die, but they didn’t deserve to be tortured past the breaking point and mutilated to the point where they couldn’t speak, could barely hear, and could hardly see.

No, having read only  _ some  _ of the files from Stark’s computer had been enough. 

So Loki wasn’t evil anymore and wished no more harm to humanity, yippee. Doesn’t mean he’s sorry about what he did, and that meant he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. So no, Clint wasn’t about to treat him as if what he did to him and Manhattan was a thing of the past. He even told the guy so.

But pity just takes over most of the time, and Clint finds himself wanting to help Loki.

Like when Thor was trying to ask Loki what kind of ice cream he wanted, and Loki was lost and confused, because he couldn’t really,  _ clearly _ hear Thor, and Thor was trying so hard to quell his frustration because he knew it wasn’t Loki’s fault that he couldn’t speak—

Clint knew exactly what needed to be done, knew exactly that  _ he _ needed to be the one to do it, and knew that Loki would probably learn quickly.

So he hopped off the couch with a sigh, grabbed the handles on Loki’s chair and pulled him backwards toward the sofa (he knew that was a jerk thing to do, probably startled Loki, and they’d all received Stark’s PSA about Not Doing That, but oh well).

“Lemme talk to him a minute, Thor,” he walked the chair backwards, and Loki turned so that he could see him, “I think I know what can help.”

“Please, Clint, any help is much appreciated,” Thor just took two cartons out of the freezer and seated himself on the sofa in front of the one Clint had claimed.

He turned Loki around to face him, pulled him in uncomfortably close just so that Loki might hear better.

“JARVIS, turn off the stuff that’s creating ambient noise.”

“As you wish.”

Loki was watching him warily, hands in his lap but with his elbows on the rests, like he was getting ready to get up and run away.

Clint ignored the posture, though, and asked slowly, clearly, enunciating properly, “I’m going to show you how to talk with your hands. Do you want to learn?”

Loki looked like he didn’t understand at first, but then nodded after a moment of consideration.

Clint wiggled forward a bit more to free his elbows. Perhaps he shouldn’t have chosen the end seat with the arm rest. 

“If you don’t get what I’m saying or doing, just do  _ this _ with your hand,” He first pointed to himself, then held up a closed fist, then moved his hand up toward the side of his face, and with the back his hand facing out, he extended his index upwards, signing, “I don’t understand.”

Loki didn’t move.

Clint stared for a few seconds holding in his frustrated glare and said, “ _ Copy _ what I’m doing.”

He repeated himself in sign, “I don’t understand,” while saying it aloud.

Loki resituated himself in his chair to give his arms more elbow room, then duplicated the motions Clint showed him. Successfully. 

He didn’t realize it, but he and Loki spent three hours teaching and learning, and Clint wasn’t wrong at all—Loki caught on quick. 

After only an hour, Loki asked, “Why do you know this?”

So Clint went into his story, even took his hearing aids out to show Loki, and explained that he had a hard time hearing, too.

He didn’t put them back in, partly because he enjoyed not  _ needing _ them to have a conversation with someone, albeit a rudimentary conversation with someone who barely spoke ASL, party because he didn’t really want to, just wanted to let his ears air out a little, and partly because he thought maybe it’d make Loki feel better, for someone else to not be able to hear well either.

So the two of them talked to themselves, unaware of the goings on around them. They mainly just talked about corporeal things, that Loki could learn to sign and could ask questions about, and when Clint accidentally kicked Loki’s chair, saying and signing “Sorry," Loki also responded with “Sorry.”

Clint thought he was just repeating the sign to practice, but Loki stopped him, told him to listen, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you talking about?”

Loki looked him in the eyes, and Clint looked back, and for a moment, all Clint could see were clear green eyes trying to get a message across.

“I’m sorry.”

The message got across.

Clint heard loud and clear.

But he didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to consider what that meant, didn’t want to have to wonder about whether or not he really meant it (because he  _ knew  _ he did, he saw it in his eyes), so he just ran. Ran out the door, ran down the sidewalk, ran with no destination in mind, trying desperately hard not to think about what that meant.

—

_ He was angry. _

_ He was confused. _

_ He was tired. _

_ They had told him they were transferring him to a different unit, away from his cellmates, a new type of solitary confinement. They hadn’t told him why. He was sure he hadn’t done anything to warrant such actions. _

_ He figured that they must not have liked the fact that he hadn’t been suffering  _ enough _ , despite that it was their own court system that declared incarceration to be the fit punishment. _

_ So they had taken him away, tied him down to a metallic table in a white room, and proceeded to poke and prod him as if he were something curious that they were trying to figure out. _

_ They hadn’t told him why. _

_ The anger had always burned inside him, from the moment those puny Midgardian mortals foiled his attempts at domination, increasing in fervency the moment Thor allowed the mortals to lock him away  _ with those accursed cuffs _ , and reaching its peak when the Allfather left his throne in Asgard for the simple act of officially casting him out and binding his magic. _

_ And now, these mortals were  _ hurting _ him and not telling him  _ why _. _

_ He struggled, of course, but not enough, because these men still lived and he was still bound to the table.  _

_ He knew this was what he probably deserved for wounding their realm so (this was, after all, what he had been expecting to be the consequences), but their  _ lawmaker _ ruled that this was not to be his punishment. _

_ Yet, here he was, and here they were. _

_ They were doing a pretty bad job, though, if Thanos had any say. Their pathetic little tortures were barely harming him. Needles through his skin, slicing bits of skin off, even  _ cutting his hair _. This was nothing. How could he have thought these people were the ones he wanted to rule? This was  _ shameful _. _

_ He had been enjoying his nice little sleep in the dark all by himself, albeit, he hadn’t slept a wink since he’d arrived at this place, when the bright artificial lights came on. He squeezed his eyes shut. _

_ “Good morning, Loki. I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay.” _

_ He didn’t recognize the voice, but he supposed everyone on this planet would know who he was.  _

_ He didn’t respond, just squinted his eyes open and turned to gaze at the man. He was dressed the same as the other doctors that “tortured” him—did what he said meant that they were transferring him again? Ceasing their torture? Why? _

_ “I just wanted to let you know that we covered our tracks successfully. Nobody knows you’re gone,” he took a moment to examine the doctor’s tools on the cart near his feet. “Nobody will come looking for you, which means we may begin the…” he turned toward Loki, and Loki glared at the scalpel in his hand. The man continued, “…the  _ procedure _.”  _

_ The door opened inwards and two additional scientists approached his bed, white masks over their faces. That first doctor, the one who actually spoke to him, seemed to be the one in charge, because he just handed the new doctors clipboards and exited the room. _

_ He changed his mind that day. Thanos would be proud of these mortals. _

—

Sam considered himself the most patient Avenger. He knew that was borderline usurpation of Steve’s title of most level-headed, but he also knew Steve very well, enough to know that  _ he  _ has been more patient recently, especially in light of the new addition to their family— _ family _ not meaning Avenger. No way would Loki  _ ever _ become an Avenger, not that Sam thought him incapable of being on their side when it came down to it, because he was, but because Loki wasn’t physically able to be one of them. 

Maybe, one day, when he got his magic back, but who knew when that’d happen.

Back months ago when Loki was rescued, Thor had told them that Odin bound Loki’s magic with the same rules that applied to Thor’s, particularly Mjolnir. He had to be worthy.

So there  _ was _ hope for Loki. He just had to be worthy of his magic before he could have access to it. Or Thor could go back to Asgard and get his dad to undo his magic spell… Yeah, that wasn’t likely to happen. So Loki just had to be worthy.

Loki didn’t think so, had told them as much. He had told Clint in particular that he would never be worthy of brandishing his talent due to the innumerous casualties of his invasion alone, aside from the countless other vile things he’d done out of jealousy and spite, and then he’d proceeded to tell Thor that he didn’t  _ want _ his magic back because then he’d have a weapon to use against people, and they’d be afraid of him. He went on to tell Steve that he had hurt people with his magic before, and that he could never be trusted to  _ not _ do so again.

Tony at one point argued that Loki would be a weak, deaf, mute, invalid for the rest of his mortal life if he didn’t get his magic back—which is when Sam walked in, visiting after a week’s absence, to the silent yelling match, unaware that he was interrupting a particularly sensitive topic.

Loki had shot back that the Allfather left him his immortality, and that he wouldn’t die for another couple thousand years—and Sam felt that he was arguing Tony’s point for him, but regardless, he had interrupted and stopped their debate in favor of a home cooked dinner straight from his mother’s recipe collection.

So, yeah, who knew if Loki would ever get his magic back. Not that anyone cared.

Which was a completely sarcastic thought, because every single person wished Loki well. They all hated seeing him so fragile compared to what he once was—Thor was the single person qualified to say that, being the one person in their group that actually knew Loki before his invasion.

And, boy, did Thor talk about  _ those days  _ a lot. Since the brothers were well over a thousand years old, there was many  _ many _ stories they could tell about each other. Tony prompted them, having read up on the Norse mythology, being proud that he knew the gods better than anyone else, and then Nat had asked about something, to which Thor began a long and hilarious story about giants and other realms.

Which is where Sam’s patience comes in. 

Thor was telling a story about his youth, a story in which Loki was embarrassed quite terribly, and probably something he shouldn’t be telling. How Loki had gotten into such a mess Sam didn’t want to know. He may not have heard the first part, but he didn’t really want to jump in the middle of something like that. 

Tony and Bruce were heated discussing some biological thing or whatever, and biology really wasn’t his forte. Clint was being whiny to Natasha about scores and playing even. 

There was just too much chatter, so he went to find Loki.

In the kitchen, with ingredients scattered across the countertop, trying to plug the Ninja in, but unable to reach the back of the wall from his wheelchair.

He must be hungry. 

It was 6:44. Has nobody gotten him anything to eat yet?

So as to not startle him, Sam gently grazed Loki’s shoulder and with his other hand, reached around and plugged the blender in.

Sam knew Loki and Clint spent hours a day practicing and learning sign language, and that Clint and Natasha had been trying to show everyone else some too, but he hadn’t been around a lot, what with his regular full time job, a house, a social life, etc. He barely came by once a week. So it was a good thing he took ASL in high school, and still remembered it.

“Let me help with this,” he said.

Loki didn’t seem to be in a good mood, cause he just shook his head, lightly shoved Sam over, and said, ”No, I’ll do it myself.”

Sam muttered, “As you wish,” and took a seat at the stool behind the counter, just watching.

Bruce had reported earlier that the broken ankle was nice and healed, and just needed stretching before use, but the break in Loki’s femur and his shattered kneecap were going to take a while longer, so for now and the next month or so, Loki was still confined to his wheelchair. Which meant that he was nowhere near tall enough to be able to blend his own food.

And it showed. Pity and a little sadness rose up in his throat as he watched Loki’s feeble and slow attempts at doing it himself, and he just really wanted to help. 

It wouldn’t, though. Loki had been waited on hand and foot for a couple months now, not able to really do anything himself at all, and Sam understood that the poor guy was going out of his mind. 

He’d been confined indoors, in a wheelchair, unable to make his presence known for two months.

On top of that, it seemed that while everyone else had eaten dinner already, they had neglected Loki’s. No wonder he was in a bad mood. He needed to get out and away. So Sam figured it was time.

Besides the fact that he was in a wheelchair, Loki shouldn’t attract attention. All of his external wounds have already healed, with no residual pain; his eyes were clear and his glasses covered the chemical scar on his sclera; his hair was back in decent shape and cut.

It was time.

Nobody would even notice they were gone.

But where would they go? It seemed like nowadays, every fast-food place had smoothies, and it wasn’t like Loki could taste them for them to make a difference at all. But he could  _ smell _ them. And doctors and scientists say that the sense of smell is closely linked with the sense of taste, so maybe Loki  _ could  _ enjoy it a little. Maybe. If that’s the way it worked.

He had been patient through strange stories from Thor, patient through Clint and Tasha’s feud, patient through unintelligible jargon of biology, patient through Loki’s attempt at blending food—and he was tired of it—note that his patience  _ did not  _ snap. He still maintained it with dignity.

This was for Loki’s sake, not his.

He needed something special to cover the bad day, something different from what the guys here normally cooked up for him, something besides the strawberry and orange and pink and purple stuff. What did Loki like?

Oh yes,  _ green _ . And he knew just where to go to get a green smoothie.

So he rose from his stool, stopped Loki (who sent a glare that clearly said  _ what do you want _ ), and said, “I haven’t eaten yet. Want to go out to eat?”

Loki looked confused as he mulled that over, “Out? Outside? To a restaurant?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here. It’s a little far away, but I’ve been craving Panera Bread all day. They have smoothies there too. Healthy.”

At first, it seemed as if he didn’t like the idea of going out, probably the thought of being surrounded by people, but Sam was  _ patient _ and waited for Loki’s answer.

He nodded, and Sam smiled.

“Everything will be fine. Trust me.”

And Loki did. 

Sam bought Loki the green smoothie, and he knew the missed calls and voicemails he’d have on his phone were totally worth seeing Loki’s face when he set the smoothie in front of him (in his defense, he  _ had _ texted Steve at the first red light after leaving).

It was like he didn’t even know green smoothies existed, eyes lighting up, sitting a little straighter, a little more relaxed. 

Loki had chosen this spot, in the back corner, away from the rest of the noise and curious eyes. It was just about 7:30, so the dinner rush has gone down a lot to where they had their privacy and could just let go of the weight of the rest of the world as they sat and enjoyed each other’s presence.

After Sam finished his soup, Loki said, “Thank you.” His bad day was over.

“How do you feel?”

From what he knew of Loki via Thor and Tony’s understanding of the mythology, Loki had always been very resourceful with his words, so his thinking and choosing his words took craftiness and planning. It took time.

“Well.” 

He looked like he wanted to say more, so Sam just waited.

“Thor forgot again, and I couldn’t reach the machine. I’m weak and helpless, but that’s okay.”

That’s okay?  _ That’s okay? _

How in the world was that  _ okay? _

Loki didn’t say more.

So Sam did, “You’ll heal, and get your strength back, won’t have to rely on others so much. Soon.”

Loki shook his head.

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“Not good,” was all he replied with.

Not good? This guy really knew how to puzzle Sam. What was  _ not good _ supposed to mean?

Not good, like, it wasn’t going good that he would—no no, Loki is always very careful with his words; he wouldn’t make a mistake of incorrect grammar. Not good, like—

“It’s not a good thing for you to get your strength back?”

“Yes and no.”

There he goes again, with the hesitating and thinking.

“It’s a good thing because I want to do other things that I can’t do sitting down—“ Sam cracked a smile. He heard about Loki’s  _ other things _ he did, pranking everybody. He was glad he didn’t actually live there like the other Avengers or he’d probably already been pranked.

Loki continued without noticing Sam’s slip in attention, “—But it’s not a good thing because I might hurt someone.”

He didn’t need to think his words through before he spoke them, knowing that he’d told the same thing to countless other veterans with similar problems, “Loki, do you want to hurt anybody?”

The reply was immediate, “No!”

“Than why do you think you will?”

“I did before.”

“But why would you hurt someone if you didn’t want to? Why would you do something you didn’t want to do?”

“What if you have no choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

A beat. 

And then, “Cruel people hurt other people. Bad people hurt other people. I am a bad person.”

“If bad people hurt other people, and you are a bad person, but you don’t want to hurt other people, then why don’t you just become a good person?”

He didn’t answer. 

After a few minutes, Sam stood up to take the dishes to the bin, Loki wheeling himself behind.

Sam got him another smoothie, and some pastries for the rest of the crew at the house, calling Steve to let him know everything was okay.

Before they got back in the car, though, Loki stopped him and said, “How do I become a good person?”

Sam smiled, “By not doing bad things, but doing good things instead,” he held up the bag of pastries, “Like giving your friends free pastries that cost twenty-five bucks.”

—

_ “Do you want to know why we’re doing this to you?” One of the doctors asked him.  _

_ Odd. They never spoke to him. He could never understand what they said to each other. _

_ Odd question, too. They knew he wanted to know, that was one of the questions he constantly asked.  _ Why, why, whywhywhy.

_ But they asked him a question, they wanted him to talk, they were going to listen. _

_ “ _ Yes _ ,” he snarled, “yes, why,  _ please _ —“  _

_ He cut himself off with a strangled scream. They were working on his leg. He didn’t know what they were doing, didn’t want to look at his flayed flesh; he knew it was agony, and that’s all he wanted to know. Well, he didn’t actually want to know that. Regardless, they never spoke to him, but they were then, and he was going to listen. _

_ The one doctor crouched by his head, “Because you need to know what it feels like to be hurt.” _

_ It took him a moment to think through the pain and actually register what was said.  _

_ He didn’t know what it was like to be hurt? _

_ That made no sense. Loki had been hurt plenty of times before this. He’d been hurt by the dwarves, by his so-called  _ friends _ , by his brother, by his own parents. He’d even tried to hurt himself. Even before he fell, he knew what it was like to be hurt. So what was this man trying to say? Did he truly not know? _

_ “I-I have! I have been hurt!” He gasped out, trying to hold back the demeaning whimpers, “I kn-know  _ exactly  _ what it feels like—“ _

_ He screamed again, and he thought perhaps they removed part of his bone. _

_ The man was laughing, and Loki supposed seeing the being who wrought so much destruction on this realm helpless and screaming would have been a joyous sight. _

_ “That doesn’t matter at all to us,” he shook his head, still smiling, “We’re hurting you, because you need to know what it feels like to be hurt.” _

_ Didn’t matter? At all? Then why let that be the purpose if it has already been accomplished? Why do this to him at all? _

_ “I-I still, I d-don’t—“ _

_ “This is what it feels like to hurt,” and he sliced a deep thick line down Loki’s arm, dug his fingers in, and Loki couldn’t stop his scream. _

_ “You hurt a lot of people. You hurt a lot of innocent people, children too—“ he could barely focus, his arm hurt, his leg hurt, and he was just so tired of it, “—and  _ this _ —“ Loki wasn’t looking, didn’t know what the man did, just that it  _ burned _ , “—is what it feels like to hurt.” The man wrenched Loki’s head towards him, and he opened his eyes, just a sliver, but enough, “How could you do that to them?” _

_ No, that’s not—that’s not what happened! _

_ Yeah, people had died, but it wasn’t like they had been tortured like this. _

_ But he knew it was. He knew that pain was pain, and that he had hurt people, and that he had hurt children. _

_ The agony blinded him, but those were the last recognizable words he heard in that place, so they drew themselves in circles all around him. _

_ — _

Stark had spare bedrooms everywhere in this house of his, but Nat didn’t normally stay the night, opting to rather go back to the Helicarrier with Clint, since that was the thing SHIELD agents did. But there was no Helicarrier anymore, and she wasn’t apart of SHIELD. 

So, she grabbed a spare bedroom.

It wasn’t like it was spur of the moment, or that she did it begrudgingly. No, she asked Tony, like the polite houseguest she was, which room he’d set apart for her. 

He hadn’t. She knew he hadn’t, probably forgot he had so many bedrooms to choose from.

But she was trying to be an example to Loki about being polite, and Tony caught on, showed her up the stairs and into a room that probably had never been used for any legitimate guest-uses. She probably needed to wash the sheets. Who knew how many party guests came up here and messed around under Stark’s nose.

She didn’t bother with it yet, though, just put her bag on the bed, hung a couple shirts up in the closet, and plugged her phone charger under the alarm clock on the nightstand for future use. 

She didn’t know how long she’d be staying, and she didn’t think there was much she could do in the way of getting SHIELD back in operational order, not so soon after the Triskelion incident, at least. She figured, sure, she’d stay here with the gang and help keep an eye on Loki.

She hadn’t seen him, yet— _ yet _ meaning  _ at all _ , not since the trial and hearing. She hadn’t even gone through the files Stark had given her. If what he said was true, about Loki being taken by HYDRA and experimented on (and she believed him wholeheartedly), then she didn’t want to know what those documents said about Loki. She remembered him being the psychotic would-be dictator with family issues, and she’d rather contrast that Loki to the Loki she would meet sooner or later. She didn’t want anything to influence her analysis of his change, other than facts that she could gather herself. 

Maybe she’d read through them later, maybe not. Sure, she could be ruthless and heartless sometimes, but she didn’t openly prey on and enjoy other people’s pain. She wasn’t sadistic. 

All she knew about the situation with Loki was what Stark had told her: that Loki couldn’t talk, could barely hear or see, sometimes communicated with Steve via Morse Code (and how outdated was  _ that _ ? Nobody knew Morse Code anymore), and couldn’t even walk, so he wheeled around in a wheelchair.

Which was a gross understatement. Watching Loki from across the room, she could tell that he could obviously see, because he was aware of the movement of things around him. He couldn’t hear very well, that much was apparent when she tried talking to him and he didn’t respond in the slightest, only to flinch as if startled of her presence when she touched his shoulder. 

She regretted doing that, too. She knew full well that if someone had been tortured for  _ any _ length of time, you don’t go around just touching them. She supposed she was only trying to gauge how damaged he was. Well, at least she got her answer.

Nobody ever touched him, except Thor. Since Loki was unable to really communicate, nobody knew if it was because Thor was his brother, or because he  _ only _ trusted Thor, or what, but regardless. Nobody touched him but Thor, and even then, not often. 

He only communicated with Steve, simply because nobody else knew Morse Code. How in the world Loki knew Morse Code, she had no idea—well, that wasn’t true. She had one idea, and it was probably correct: Steve had taught him. She’d seen him communicate with Steve only once since she arrived, and he simply asked for a cup of water he couldn’t reach from his wheelchair.

That was another curious thing, understated. Loki was weak, physically. His muscles hadn’t been used in nigh-on two years and thus had atrophied horribly. She’d been told that he was doing physical exercises to rebuild those muscles, but she figured he’d wheel himself around pretty slowly. 

Wrong.

He went fast. All the time. 

Tony had told her to keep to the sides of the hallway when walking, because Loki tended to roll straight down the middle, and had almost hit them a dozen times, but he told her that over the phone right before she took a nap on the flight there. She hadn’t remembered that bit of information until she turned a corner and had been hit. 

Knocked her down and toppled his wheelchair, too.

Loki had been upset, obviously hadn’t recognized her, and that was when she first got a good look at him. She set him back up, apologized and was surprised to see tears shining in his eyes, before he rolled himself away far too fast for her liking. 

So she had settled herself on the sofa, content to just observe him and Thor as they watched Netflix.

She hadn’t been able to gauge, yet, his level of mental activity. Supposedly, he’d been out of captivity for three weeks, and that was plenty of time for him to reclaim his mind. She knew the others weren’t worried about him being a threat because he was literally unable to do almost anything, but she wanted to know if  _ he _ thought he was.

She couldn’t tell.

Normally, one could determine that type of thing from the way they held and carried themselves, the way they talked about themselves or other people, the way they talked  _ to _ other people, the way they went about their chores and actions, etc. Basically just body language and basic people reading. Loki, being all bandaged and healing as he was, couldn’t walk or carry himself in any way that suggested anything at all, couldn’t talk, and hadn’t really done much of anything besides wheel himself around, grab a cup of water, and allow Thor to move him onto the sofa.

She got nothing.

And that was the most frustrating thing. But she knew it wasn’t her fault, so she just let it go.

She had arrived a few hours ago, after dinner, around eight, so she decided to retire for the night, and yes,  _ Tony _ , it  _ was _ too early for sleep. So she prowled around on her laptop for a while before she flicked the lights off. 

She hadn’t been asleep an hour when a loud buzzing woke her.

She sat up with a gasp, knife already in hand, eyes alert and scanning the darkness for threats. 

She could see nothing through the dark, so she flicked on the lamp on the nightstand. It was the clock that was making the sound. An alarm set to go off at 2:37 in the morning.

Who would set such a thing?

Regardless, it was loud and piercing, so she fumbled around the slender object, looking for a button,  _ something _ , but couldn’t find anything. 

Of course, it was one of Stark’s inventions. 

She tried tapping the top of it, the sides, unplugging it—it wasn’t even plugged in.

“JARVIS, turn it off.”

“My apologies, Ms. Romanoff, but the device was created before myself. I am unaware of how it works.”

“You can’t scan it or hack into it?”

“Unfortunately, miss, I cannot.”

With an  _ ugh _ , she slipped out of bed, out her room, and into Tony’s, and if she scared the living daylights out of him with her hand over his mouth and her whispers in his ear, so be it. He shouldn’t create a device that existed to torment.

“Tasha? _ What th— _ “

“How do I turn the alarm on the clock off?”

“…what?”

“The alarm on the clock in my room won’t shut off.”

A moment of silence, and sure enough, Tony could hear the wailing from down the hall.

“Just hold the top down and say, ‘Off.'”

It worked.

It was 2:44, but she figured she could get more sleep before morning.

Until the alarm went off again at 3:27.

And 5:07. And if she was trying to sleep on the sofa when she heard it go off again after that, it wasn’t her problem.

Come morning, she hadn’t slept a wink.

But she  _ was _ the first to make coffee. 

Loki came in while she had her head down on the island, one elbow blocking her forehead, the other hand cradling a mug. She only knew it was him because his chair didn’t sound like footsteps. 

She figured she’d be nice, even though she really didn’t feel like it: “Mornin’,” she mumbled.

Loki probably hadn’t heard her—could he even see that she was there? Maybe, maybe not.

She heard the fridge open, a beat of silence, then the fridge closing. Loki wheeled himself across the kitchen, but then Thor was awake, and Tasha looked up, “Mornin’,” she mumbled again.

“Good morning, Natasha! It was good to see you again yesterday. How long will you be with us?”

He stood on the other side of the Island, facing her, with his back to Loki, doing whatever it was he was doing. Probably trying to find something to eat.

“Unknown, as of yet. SHIELD’s down, so I don’t have a job. Tony said I could stay here.”

“Wonderful! It’ll be—“

Loki in the background had a pitcher of what looked like orange juice in his lap, and Tasha was pretty sure he was going to spill it if he tried to wheel himself back toward the fridge. She interrupted Thor, “What’s he doing?”

Thor turned to look, and “Brother, Let me help!” He grabbed the pitcher from Loki, gently, and put it where it belonged, also taking out some milk and yogurt. “I’ll make you some breakfast, just wait a bit.” It was unclear whether or not Loki heard him, the guy could hear  _ sometimes _ , she’d figured out: his ears were just really bad.

He went toward Natasha, looked at her through unfocused eyes, and kept wheeling by, toward the window where he parked and gazed.

Thor was scooping peanut butter into the blender, with a banana and the yogurt and milk, without measuring. When it was fully blended, he poured it in a cup, stuck a straw in it, and went to hand it to Loki.

Then Tony was there. The smirk on his face gave everything away—he was going to laugh at her and the alarm clock.  _ Psh _ , he was so easy to read.

“How’d you sleep?” He asked, innocent enough.

“Like a baby,” she deadpanned.

“Don’t lie,” his voice held a note of teasing in it, “JARVIS said you slept on the couch. Did you not get the alarm off?”

She sat up, “Are you unaware that babies do not, in fact, sleep well at night?”

He turned his back toward her and opened the fridge, hiding the slight hesitation at her quip, “I’ll replace it with one that actually  _ works _ . How many times did it go off?”

There mustn’t have been anything in the fridge that he wanted, cause he just shut the door and grabbed a mug.

“Three before I left. I heard it again after that, so four.”

His coffee was black, but he said something that puzzled her, “Must’ve been a Loki thing.”

His smile was back, but he tried to hide it behind the mug, unsuccessfully.

“What are you talking about?”

He chuckled, but moved the mug away from his mouth to answer, “He’s been playing stupid pranks on us for a couple days now. One or two a day, no more than six so far. Just messing with us.”

So his mind  _ does _ still work. Interesting. 

“Thor said that he was the god of tricks in Asgard, so it makes sense that he’d be the crippled god of  _ pranks _ here.”

They both turned to look at the Asgardians, over by the window, Thor sitting on the floor just chatting away, and Loki slowly drinking his smoothie.

She’d have to be wary, cautious. Who knew when, or if, his harmless pranks would turn deadly, and he’d try to escape.

As if he were a prisoner…

Steve came in, then, and Tony started telling him about her rough night. All three were laughing and cracking smiles at such a silly thing.

Steve didn’t grab a mug of coffee, like she and Tony, rather a glass of orange juice. What took them by surprise and made Tasha jump off her stool was Steve’s horrible gasping and choking.

He’d taken a drink of orange juice.

The orange juice that Loki had had.

The orange juice that Loki had  _ made _ .

Steve choked on his drink, spit the contents of his mouth in the sink, and coughed like he was dying.

It had been  _ poisoned _ .

She knew it.

Loki was not to be trusted.

The scene attracted the attention of Thor, who wheeled Loki over to see what was going on. 

She looked at Loki, observing him, determining if he really was the mastermind behind this (and she  _ knew _ he was).

He was smiling. 

He knew what was happening.

He did this  _ on purpose _ .

Nat would have attacked him if Steve hadn’t spoken, “Oh,  _ god _ ! That’s the most  _ disgusting _ thing I’ve ever tasted! Like cheese juice.” He filled up a new glass of water and began chugging.

_ Cheese juice _ ?

She looked at Loki. He was still smiling. But, not evil. More like  _ he thought this was funny _ kind of smile.

Tony, curious as ever, picked up Steve’s  _ cheese juice _ from where he violently set it on the counter, sniffed it, then immediately turned away with a wrinkled face. 

“ _ Eugh, _ ” he looked at Loki, only a few feet away, and said, “Is this powered cheese water?”

From behind him, Steve pulled out the cabinet drawer where the trash was hidden, turned around, and held up an empty mac and cheese sauce packet.

Loki wasn’t smiling anymore. He was laughing. 

Okay, maybe Loki hadn’t been trying to poison Cap. Maybe he hadn’t actually shown any signs of evil intent. Didn’t mean he was suddenly good, though.

Tasha watched him laughing; they all did. His face was free of pain and sorrow. 

Thor started laughing too, and soon, Tony and Steve as well.

Well, maybe he wasn’t  _ evil _ anymore, either.


	4. Home

_ He was sick and tired of being confined to this mortal prison with mortal inmates and these accused restriction shackles the Allfather sent down. _

_ His wrists had been chained together for three months and he was sick and tired of that, too. The Midgardians wrapped his wrists in padding to prevent chafing; nevertheless, there was still quite a bit of discomfort. _

_ Primarily, however, he was angry. _

_ Angry that he was confined in a cement block. Angry that he had no access to the talents he had honed over  _ centuries _. Angry that he was being treated as a child, sent to time-out by an emotionally absent father who didn’t want to enact true punishment or  _ justice _. _

_ He wasn’t even his real father.  _

_ Loki had been there for three months, and in that time, the Allfather hadn’t so much as glanced his way. There was no hope of a real sentence for years to come. The Allfather no longer cared about him. He had been right, that day in the weapons chamber: he had been just a simple stolen relic. Nothing more. _

_ What hurt the most, struck him to his core, was that his mother hadn’t sent any word, either. Was she too turning her back on him? _

_ At least his oaf of a brother still cared. That was something, right? _

_ No!  _

_ He didn’t care that Thor still cared, still visited him often. He was against such actions, always telling Thor to leave him alone, to stop pulling him away from his life as Ruler of the penitentiary. He hated his visits.  _

_ Thor always went on about Midgard and his new friends and how he couldn’t wait for Loki to become a changed man, to see the error of his ways, to come to his senses and embrace who he once was. He wanted Loki to be the foolish and ignorant child as before, and Loki promised himself that he would  _ never _ be controlled like that again. _

_Loki only entertained Thor because he was waiting for word from Asgard, waiting for the Allfather to_ do something _, even waiting for Mother to talk to him. He deliberately kept from Thor the knowledge that he could chose to not see him if he so wished. He knew that if he ever did, that would break Thor’s heart, but he also knew Thor still wouldn’t give up. So the ensuing pursuit would drive Loki insane._

_ No, Loki would continue entertaining Thor if only to keep the peace. _

_ That’s what he was waiting for. He was told Thor was back to see him, for the eighth time in three months. _

_ “Brother, It is a wonderful day! The Bifrost has been repaired!” Thor exclaimed, and Loki sat up straighter, “So I am to return home and aid in quelling rebellions that have stirred amongst the other realms in our absence.” _

_ Thor was… leaving? _

_ That was a surprise. Loki had assumed that, come the time the Bifrost was in working order, Thor would have made far too many emotional connections to the mortals to leave, that he’d stay and defend their puny realm with their other Avengers. _

_ “Father has come to see you as well, but this is goodbye for now.” _

_ Father came too? That was yet another surprise. _

_ “Loki,” he continued, “I’m sorry that I must go, but I will come again. You have my word. I will not leave you alone in this place.” _

_ He really didn’t care how Thor felt about this, his mind whirling with new information, so he didn’t reply.  _

_ Thor just left. _

_ They moved him to a different place to speak with his father, an actual room, and chained his wrists to the table. _

_ “Are you here, at last, to free me, Allfather?” His voice dripped with mockery and sarcasm. _

_ “Do you not truly feel the gravity of your crimes? Wherever you go, there is war, ruin, and death.” Odin remained standing after the door was shut, didn’t move from his place. _

_ Loki scoffed, “I came down here to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent god. Just like you.” _

_ “We are not gods. We are born, we live, we die. Just as humans do.” His great hand gripped Gungnir as tight as ever. _

_ Loki rolled his eyes, “Give or take five thousand years.” _

_ There was a momentary pause, a shift in the air as the Allfather shook his head in disdain, “All this because Loki desires a throne.” Finally, emotion present in the voice, contemptuousness. _

_ “It is my birthright.” _

_ “Your birthright—“ and now anger, “—was to die as a child, cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me.” _

_ So be it. Loki didn’t care anymore. What was the point of this visit? _

_ “If I am for the axe, then for mercy’s sake, just swing it.” _

_ Odin was silent for a moment, and Loki waited. _

_ “Frigga—“  _ Finally.  _ Word about his mother. He wondered when she would come up, “—is the only reason you are still alive, and you will never see her again. You will spend the rest of your days here in Midgard’s prisons.” _

_ These prisons!? Odin was supposed to take him back to Asgard. He was a prince, was he not!? He certainly wasn’t mortal. He would far outlive any of these humans. _

_ Perhaps, though, this was the best. His magic, encased in Asgardian cuffs, waited and stirred within itself. The stagnation would grow to be too powerful for the cuffs to contain, and he would be free. _

_ He wouldn’t be here forever. _

_ But Odin knew that, did he not? _

_ “I am Prince of Asgard. I do not belong here. These—“ _

_ “You are  _ not _.” _

_ Loki held very still. _

_ He was  _ not _? _

_ What was that supposed to mean? _

_ “Loki Odinson,” Odin stepped forward and Gungnir clashed again the cement floor. _

_ He breathed. _

_ That sounded like a pronouncement, which did not bode well for him. _

_ “You have wreaked havoc upon Jotunheim and Midgard, mercilessly destroyed innumerous innocent lives, and against Asgard you have committed treason. You are unworthy of these realms,” another step and Gungnir clashed again, “Unworthy of your title as prince, and unworthy of the gifts your loved ones have given you.” _

_ Odin was upon him now, an arm’s length away. _

_ Loki’s face did not change. He sat still, petrified of the words issuing from Odin’s mouth, fearful of the power they hold. _

_ His breath held. _

_ “I take from you your power—” an arm jutted forward, rested against his chest, yet his eyes were locked on his father’s, “—the magic that thrives within your veins—“ the hand curled, gripping a force that couldn’t be seen, “—and I  _ bind _ it—“ The hand twisted, twisted his magic, twisted until he couldn’t feel it anymore. _

_ Once more, Gungnir clanged. Loki felt its power through his very bones.  _

_ “If you prove yourself worthy, you shall once again possess the power of  _ Loki _.” _

_ The hand released, and Odin drew away. _

_ Loki sat there, numb, staring at the table until the guards came to retrieve him. _

_ They took his shackles off.  _

_ He couldn’t feel his magic. _

_ — _

Thor missed Frigga. He missed her a lot, and sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breathe from the weight of that loss.

Loki did as well, but he didn’t have most of his memories, so the loss wasn’t as devastating. For him, Thor supposed it would have been equally as disappointing.

Thor didn’t understand the workings of the brain or of how magic worked. He never had. Loki was the scientific one, while he was the brawn and muscle. Although, he did want to give himself some credit: no, he wasn’t book-smart like Loki and Stark and Banner, but he was still smart, like Steve and Barton and Natasha.

Thor laughed to himself.

He had told Loki this a few days ago and Loki had said, “I’d categorize you with the Hulk.”

Thor was immensely glad that Loki had kept his wit about him through this challenging ordeal. During those first few weeks, when Loki wasn’t Loki, when he’d been riddled with wounds and walking was out of the question, Loki hadn’t been himself to the degree that Thor had begun to lose hope that his brother was still in there at all. 

Now, the majority of Loki’s memories of his thousand years of life was gone, leaving Loki with only vague impressions of who Thor was. Yet somehow, Loki fundamentally knew that Thor meant safety, that Thor was his big brother, and that Thor would never leave him. That was all Thor needed to know to confirm that Loki was still there, still fighting.

Thor had hope, and everyday that hope grew stronger.

Loki’s memory was coming back, slowly, but every day brought progress. 

Those scientists would have to try a lot harder if they wanted to erase a thousand years' worth of memories and  _ keep _ them gone.

Every day, Thor would tell Loki a story about their childhood, about Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, about mother and father, and Loki would remember bits and pieces. Sometimes he’d ask questions about an event to fill in a hole or to determine if that event happened at all. 

This time, it was about their mother. 

Soon after establishing effective communication after he and Loki had been rescued, Thor had told him that she’d been killed, slain by the enemy in defense of something most valuable, and that he’d avenged her death. He hadn’t planned on telling him so soon, but Loki had asked, had wanted to know where mother and father were.

But then Loki had forgotten.

Thor had been telling Loki and Sam Wilson about the time Mother had to turn Loki back into a little prince because he had forgotten how to undo his own spell, when Loki interrupted him, saying that he remembered that moment. He finished the story, adding elements that Thor hadn’t even known.

Then he asked if he could see her, that missed her dearly.

’Twas the moment Thor realized that Loki had forgotten. Again.

He couldn’t tell him that mother was dead. Not again. Let someone else do it.

Perhaps, he thought, he should take Loki home, now.

Thor had been thinking about that quite a lot. He missed home, and although he left for a reason, Loki hadn’t. Loki might not remember home enough to want to go back and stay (after all, the Avengers and this house were his family and home now), but maybe he’d want to visit, make real the dreams and memories. If things continued the way they have been, he might even regain more lost memories.

“Loki,” he gently tapped his arm to get his attention, “Would you like to go home, to Asgard?”

Loki sat still, unmoving, though Thor knew him well enough to know that his mind was racing while his body wasn’t. He didn’t answer.

“Father misses you, as do Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Remember, we all grew up together. We’ve been friends for—“

Thor stopped. Loki was nodding his head.

“It seems more like a dream, as if it isn’t real.”

He probably wasn’t finished, but Thor started anyway, “It is as real as you or I. It is where we live. You might remember things.”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

Thor couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he stood up, “We can go now, surprise them all!”

Loki looked up at him, disagreement written on his face. He tried to say something, but Thor wasn’t watching. He’d turned toward Sam and said, “Could you please inform the team of our plans? I know not when we shall return. Perhaps in—“

Sam interrupted, “Loki’s trying to say something,” and he gestured behind Thor, at Loki, who looked quite put-out by being ignored.

Thor turned.

Loki said, “Brother. Maybe the morning would be best. It’s late, I’m tired, and I’d like to regain my energy so that I can walk there. We can still surprise them.”

Yes, perhaps that would be best. Thor hadn’t considered his brother’s wellbeing; instead he was hasty and rash. He scolded himself.

He needed to think about Loki, too, when making big decisions.

He really did look tired, and glancing at the clock on the wall revealed the time to be after eleven in the evening, which meant that Father would be trying to sleep.

Loki needed sleep as well, like he had said, to regain his strength. Thor knew Loki hated having to use the motorized wheelchair, and the only reason he was using it now was because he had had an incident earlier that day. A forgetting incident.

Thor hadn’t been expecting it, hadn’t been watching for signs. Loki hadn’t regressed like that in several weeks, and everybody thought he was getting better. One moment they were walking side by side on the balcony, Loki eating ice cream, and Thor telling a story about their mother—then the next moment, Thor heard the bowl shatter, looked up to see Loki shaking, wide eyes darting all around, and raced to his side.

Thor had caught him just as his legs gave out, and even though he knew no-one was around to hear him, he kept up a string of mumbles to calm himself.

It was a testament to the sentiment and love in Loki’s heart that anytime Frigga’s death was brought up, he couldn’t deal with it.

The scientists had taught Loki’s brain how to forget things, and how to forget a lot of things all at once. Occasionally, Loki’s brain would enact its learnings, leaving Loki lost and confused with no idea where he was or how to walk, and sometimes, he didn’t even know how to move his arms.

Thor had carried him inside, and Sam brought out the motorized wheelchair. Thor then told them stories until Loki was able to remember again.

Those incidents never failed to exhaust Loki, so it was a wonder that he had stayed awake throughout everything Thor talked about.

Recounting to himself what he should have known, he decided that  _ now _ was the time for them all to rest. Asgard could wait til morning, after Thor had the chance to think it through and plan the event.

So he did.

He decided that they’d leave in the morning after breakfast. If one of the other Avengers wanted to come (Stark, he was thinking about Stark) then he’d tell them to allow he and his brother this time alone to visit family. He just wanted Loki all to himself. “But you are always with him!” His imaginary Tony would say, to which he’d say, “So?” And then he’d be dramatic if he had to, and call Heimdall to take them away right then and there. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

After they arrived in the Bifrost and Loki remembered something, they’d have a lovely chat with Heimdall as they walked the Rainbow Bridge to the palace. They’d visit Father first, on his throne as the king, and he’d pardon Loki, take back his spell, and unbind Loki’s magic. Then Loki’d be free to remember everything, and since he was a changed man, he’d join Thor with the Avengers to defend earth from the evil that lurked about. 

But before they return to Midgard, they’d eat and converse with their old friends, spar a little like old times, and before the sun sets, in the cool of the twilight, they’d pay a visit to Sleipnir. The colt probably missed Loki after all this time. Only then would they return to the Bifrost, come back to the house and eat dinner with their friends.

Thor went over his plan again and again, making sure everything was right. He didn’t sleep, too distracted and too excited. He found some paper and a pencil (thanks to JARVIS) and wrote it all out, even planned out the conversations they would have, Thor acting as translator all the while.

Heimdall came first, and they’d talk about earth and how Loki was liking it. Then came Odin, and he’d interrogate Loki to determine if he should have his power back. He’d realize that Loki was a good person now, and after removing his magic, they’d hug each other and Father would tell Loki how Mother would be so proud of him.

Then Fandral would see them, and be excited that Loki was back, and Sif would come running and would challenge him to a match, and Hogun would tell him about how they had all missed him so much. Volstagg would demand they stop their sparring and go eat, leaving it at a draw. Because Loki had his magic, he’d heal himself and be able to eat as well as he ever could. 

They’d laugh and laugh and share stories about their time away from home. Volstagg would fall asleep, a maiden would call Fandral away, Hogun would take some food to his family, and Sif would go… somewhere, attend to her duties, leaving him and Loki. That’s when he’d ask Loki to stay with him on Midgard, stay with the Avengers, and be a valuable asset to their team. Loki would agree.

Then Loki would feign a restroom break, but would actually sneak away to see Sleipnir. Thor would keep the silence and wait nearby, for maybe an hour or two. Then they’d go home.

It was a perfect plan! Nothing could go wrong.

He was so excited!

By the time he solidified it, the clock read four in the morning. He still wasn’t tired.

So he decided to pack some things to take back with them, just the finer delicacies that Asgard didn’t have.

Then it was four thirty, and Thor knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep at such an hour. 

He turned the TV on, and waited.

Normally, Loki was up and awake before he was, but since it was reversed that morning, Loki staggered into the kitchen looking quite confused.

Thor saw in his peripheral vision Loki trying to say something, but was paying too much attention to the pancakes on the griddle. He had gotten bored of the television, and decided to cook breakfast for the team: blueberry pancakes. For Loki, he blended up a blueberry smoothie.

Not that Loki would know its flavor...

He flipped the cakes, and quickly swiped the drink from the fridge along with a cup of yogurt, slid them across the counter to Loki (who caught them nicely) and said, “Good morning,” before turning back to the pancakes. He knew he had the griddle on a temperature too high, but he hadn’t burned any so far, so he was determined to further hone his skills.

No one else had come in while he stood there, nor after Loki finished this breakfast. 

Strange. It was only seven in the morning. Normally, Sam and Steve would be up and awake, preparing for their jobs. He intended to tell one of them of his plans with Loki for the day.

No bother. Sam was around last night when he and Loki were talking about it. He should remember.

“Are you ready to go, brother?” 

Loki shook his head, eyebrows scrunching.

“Remember, last night, we talked about going home. To Asgard.”

He gave Loki a moment, but he did nod his head.

That was good. He remembered. 

It was going to be a good day!

Thor couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

He grabbed the sack of candy in one had, wrapped his other hand gently around Loki’s arm, and guided them out onto the balcony.

“Heimdall, we are ready to come home.”

Then light enveloped them, and they were flying.

Loki was startled, looking around with wide eyes, watching the galaxies soar past; Thor wondered if Loki missed this.

When they arrived, Thor stepped out of the portal a split second before Loki did, giving him time to turn and see Loki trip over his feet, land on his hands and knees and empty the contents of his stomach against the wall.

Loki must have forgotten about the way the Bifrost transported them. 

Thor rubbed his back, helped him to his feet, and looked into his eyes with concern.

“I’m fine,” Loki said, “Wasn’t prepared.”

Heimdall spoke, and Thor turned around, “Welcome home, my princes.” 

“Thank you, Heimdall. What’s happened in our absence?”

Heimdall sighed heavily, and turned slightly, avoiding Thor’s eyes, “Perhaps the Allfather would rather deliver the news.”

That was puzzling, and it didn’t sound very good.

Loki tugged on his sleeve and met him with raised eyebrows.

Oh, right! He was supposed to be the translator!

He repeated what Heimdall said in sign, and Loki also thought it was a puzzling thing to say.

They left Heimdall there, walking down the Rainbow Bridge at a nice pace that didn’t tire Loki.

What did Heimdall mean by that?

Most often when Thor returned from having been away a lengthy period of time, Heimdall would welcome him with open arms and a delightful face. He would exuberantly recount events that Thor missed as they ambled down the bridge, only not too far before he had to turn back to return to his post.

Heimdall’s behavior was off, different, as if there were weights on his heart and mind dragging him down.

And what was that about news? News that Heimdall felt it was not his to share? 

Thor had no idea of what it could be, but whatever it was, it was certainly ominous.

He wondered if Loki thought the same, but didn’t ask.

On their way to the Throne Room, they took a detour or two, courtesy of Thor who knew where he was going, just to see and tour the palace like old times. Thor missed the place, as spacious and beautiful as ever. It was quiet, too, and he could hear the water trickling, feel the breeze dance around him, smell the crisp, honey-tinted air— _ honey? _

He hadn’t noticed that before. It smelled like home, nothing had changed, except now he realized that home smelled faintly of honey…

Had Loki noticed that, too?

He didn’t ask. Loki had this look of…  _ amazement _ about him, and he looked so excited and happy. 

A touch of sadness pinged Thor’s heart. Loki didn’t fully remember this--remember this as  _ home _ . Was this not home anymore, then? This was probably a dream-come-true. Loki had told him how he  _ dreamt _ of Asgard sometimes when he was able to remember his dreams, but he had never said whether or not he  _ remembered  _ it. 

He then presumably would not notice the honey.

The inner-palace was silent, and their footsteps loud.

They encountered only the ritual palace guards on their way, which was unusual because always there could be found warriors coming and going to meetings, to the training rooms, to the dining halls. 

There was no one. 

And Thor was very curious.

Odin was seated on his throne when Thor saw him, and Loki smiled, “I remember this room. I remember him. That’s Father, Odin, the Allfather.”

Thor smiled, but didn’t answer, just kept on towards the throne.

“My sons.” Odin said, kingly, monotonously, as though they were in trouble and he were to lecture them.

Thor stopped, stood still and straight, but said nothing. Loki did the same.

But Thor couldn’t stop the grin when Odin hopped off the throne, bounded the stairs and came to stand before them, “Wonderful to see you two both in good health! The time has been long!” 

His arms were outstretched, and Thor stepped forward to hug him. Loki was next.

“You are in good health, are you not?” He addressed that question toward Loki, who just watched with a wisp of a smile on his lips, and Thor wondered how much Odin knew about Loki’s captivity.

“Father, forgive me, I must translate. Loki cannot hear, and the mortals devised an entire language from gestures.” He turned to Loki and repeated what Odin said and asked.

Loki responded, “I am well. My legs are healing swiftly,” but he hesitated, fingers jerking this time, signing fast, “Thor, please, do not tell him about my memory!”

Thor squinted his confusion about that last part, but decided it could wait until later.

“Loki says he’s doing well. His legs alone are left to heal, and they are almost to full health!”

Odin watched their interaction, Gungnir in one hand, the other on his beard, but in an instant, he let go and Gungnir disappeared from his side. Loki tapped his shoulder to say something, but Odin spoke first, “Loki, what is that on your face? A faux mask?”

Thor laughed. Did Odin really not know what glasses were, or was he joking?

Nevertheless, he repeated it for Loki.

Loki’s smile hadn’t left his lips since seeing the Allfather, and he opened his mouth to laugh a little, plucking his glasses off his nose and holding them out.

“Do you not know, Father? The humans use these to help them see when there’s something wrong with their eyes.”

Odin looked up sharply, handed the glasses back to Loki, “There is something wrong with my son’s eyes? You said he was well and nearly healed.” 

Thor looked at Loki, at a loss for words. How was he supposed to explain that Loki’s eyes  _ were _ healed, at least, as healed as they were going to get? That without magical interference, they would to remain in this state?

He didn’t have a chance to reply, though, because Odin reached forward, not fast to threaten or startle, but toward Loki’s face before he had put his glasses back on. 

Loki flinched and stepped back, eyes wide.

That was an unexpected move, and Thor reached forward, gently lowered Odin’s arm to his side, and said, “Loki prefers that none should touch him, Father. Please don’t be insulted.”

Odin took a beat to consider, then said to Loki, “I thought I saw something, Loki, I apologize for my hasty actions.” He paused for Thor to translate, then continued, “Let me have a look inside your mouth.”

Thor hesitated at that, again an unexpected request, and Loki saw, looked to Thor eagerly, awaiting what Father said.

They both knew what the Allfather wanted to know, knew what he saw and was curious about. 

Because Loki had laughed, Odin had seen inside his mouth—had not seen a tongue.

Loki obliged.

Odin turned away. Gungnir was back and gripped tight; one fist clenched at the Allfather’s side. It was clear that he was angry. Thor had had that very same reaction when he had learned of Loki’s fate.

Loki moved closer to Thor and asked, “Is he angry with me, that I lied about being well?”

Thor hated that his brother would think such things. “Of course not,” he shook his head, placed a frown on his lips, “He’s angry at those who did this to you.” 

Odin faced them again, composed, “I fervently regret standing by and doing nothing while you, my boy, suffered unimaginably.” He reached out again, cradled Loki’s jaw, and Loki did not move, did not glance away, even to see if Thor would translate.

He didn’t. He did address Odin’s statement,  _ aloud _ , “There was nothing you could do, nothing  _ I  _ could do. Heimdall couldn’t even find him—“

“Did they suffer?”

Thor didn’t answer quickly, didn’t want to tell his father that he was a failure as a bother, as a son, and unworthy of Mjolnir, because he failed to rescue Loki  _ twice _ . Not only that, he had gotten himself captured as well! 

Long were the months of wondering what had happened to Loki and searching and searching  _ everywhere _ , only to find him, to rush in without forethought, and lose him again. Then long were the moments of waiting for the transport vehicle to pass by so that he could grab Loki and go—only to be taken down and captured himself! And again, long were the months since they were rescued, that he cared for Loki and nursed him back to health and pondered all the ways this might never have happened if he hadn’t acted so rashly. If he had just thought out a plan. If he had tried harder.

Countless nights were spent lying awake from the guilt that Loki’s suffering was his fault, that he had failed to rescue him from his captors, that he had failed to avenge him at all.

_ Did they suffer? _

“I don’t know.”

Why didn’t he know? 

He should have been  _ seething _ with anger toward the scientists, yet he didn’t know their fate. Alas, that was another failure on his part. 

Odin shook his head, let his arm drop.

Loki, who,  _ bless his soul _ , had no idea what was going on, timidly asked, “Can I have my magic back?”

Oh, yes!

“Father, Loki asks if he may have his magic restored.”

No hesitation, not even a beat of silence to consider, before Odin replied, “I can’t.” 

“What?”

“I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“But, Father, surely—“

Surely, Loki wouldn’t live the rest of his life mute and deaf, frail as a mortal. Why wouldn’t Odin give it back? Why would he condemn—

“The binding spell leaves no room for exceptions or magical overrides. ‘If he be worthy.’” Odin took a step back, and the hourly clang echoed through the room. 

“Loki’s fate rests in his hands alone.”

As Thor repeated for Loki, Odin continued toward his throne, saying, “I’m sorry, my sons. I have a busy day ahead.”

They both looked up at him as he sat down. Warriors and guards made their way toward them.

“Father, we do not intend to stay.”

“I understand. I may not see either of you before you depart, but know this: Thor, Loki, you, both of you, always have a home here.”

That brought a pleasant relief; though Thor hadn’t considered the idea that Asgard  _ wouldn’t _ be their home, he could understand why. Traitors to the throne and those who renounce their title were normally either killed, imprisoned forever, or banished away. In those terms, Thor understood exactly why the guards were so stiff around them. Actually, it was a wonder they weren’t immediately arrested upon arrival. Now, Heimdall’s reaction made sense.

Thor bowed his head in goodbye, “Thank you, Father. Until we meet again.”

Loki bowed, too, a longer bow and lower.

The trip, so far, was not going near as planned. Continuing like this, they should probably just go back early.

Sif approached as they were leaving. She seemed to be in a hurry, face flushed and breathing uneven. She was, in all likelihood, supposed to be in that very meeting with Odin.

She stopped suddenly, as soon as she was able to make out who they were from a distance. Thor ran forward to greet her, Loki behind him, and he spoke (“Lady Sif! How are you?”), but she did not meet his eyes, staring resolutely at Loki, eyes wide in a mix of wonder and surprise.

What was the matter?

Was it the glasses? It was true that Asgard had no such device, but were Lady Sif and Odin, and other Asgardians truly ignorant? 

Loki just smiled at her, and apparently thinking the same, held out his glasses for her.

“Thor, Loki, it’s good to see you after so long—but what is this and why do you wear it like a mask?”

“Father said the same thing,” he laughed, hands moving to translate for Loki as he spoke (he hated to leave Loki out of the conversation, and he knew Loki hated it too), “They are called ‘glasses’ and the Midgardians use them to see better.”

Thor himself had been on Midgard for a while, a lot longer than most other Aesir, and had become accustomed to seeing them on the faces of half the population of earth. He truly hadn’t thought that they’d stand out so much upon returning home.

Sif held them up to her face, attempting to look through them, but shrank back and handed them to Loki, clutched between two fingers as if it the item was cursed. He took them, and she turned toward Thor to say something—at the same time that Loki’s hands began moving.  

Thor’s attention was torn, unsure of who to listen. 

He completely missed everything. 

Sif seemed like she was waiting for a response, and Loki was mildly annoyed, had stopped halfway through, having seen that Thor was distracted. Neither knew that they had spoken at the same time as the other.

“Very sorry, Sif, you and Loki spoke at the same time. I didn’t catch anything,” he shook his head with a mock “I’m sorry” face and turned to Loki, “Sorry, brother, say that again?”

He repeated himself, rejuvenated and excited, face alight, “I remember her! Sif. I remember her hair, that I cut it off, but…” he stopped, looked away, searching for words, “I remember I went to the dwarves for new hair—“

Oh no. No no no, going down  _ that  _ particular memory could not possibly have desirable results. Loki must  _ not _ remember!

He shook his head, grabbed Loki’s hands to still him, and looked into his eyes; then said slowly, “Brother, that memory isn’t a pleasant memory. You might not want to remember.” 

Loki’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement, but he nodded.

Thor knew he wouldn’t like being told ‘no’ about this, and knowing Loki’s curiosity, he’d find out the truth somehow. Thor just hoped he was there when it happened, in case Loki slipped into a flashback or forgetting incident. But that concern would have to wait until later.

He turned to Sif, to see what she had said.

She just looked confused, standing there warily, watching dumbfounded, “What was that?”

He gripped Loki’s shoulder as he explained, “Lady Sif, my brother can no longer hear, so he communicates with Sign Language.”

“Oh.” She wore a look of pity, now. 

“Worry not, for he fares well!” Hand still gripping Loki’s shoulder, he turned to smile at him, and Loki smiled back, hands raised to say, “Ask her why she’s in a hurry.”

Thor did.

“I have news to deliver the Allfather in the meeting that is taking place  _ this very moment _ without me. I’m afraid, friends, that I must be going.” 

...Yet she still stood there, perhaps waiting for a goodbye?

Thor realized that there were a lot of  _ perhaps _ ’s going through his mind about a lot of different things. This adventure had been planned to a T. He had thought out every minute detail, yet everything was going off the charts!

Hands moving for Loki’s sake, he asked Sif, “What news caused you tardiness?”

She shook her head sadly, “There’s a brigade of rebels gathered in Svartalfheim, Vanir fighting for control of one of the Dwarvish mines. Weeks ago, I was sent with a company to instill peace  _ without conflict _ . The Vanir lashed out. I am to present my report to Odin.”

She paused, looked over at Loki, drawing Thor’s attention as well. Loki just looked lost. Most likely, his memory problems were to blame.

“I’m sorry to hear that news, Sif, but it’s not wise to keep Father waiting,” he reached out and clasped her bicep, “Go. We will visit again sometime.”

She reached over and held onto Thor’s arm, “The Vanir seem to be immovable, so I might still be deployed when you do.” She looked toward Loki as she spoke to them both, “Nevertheless, I will write a letter. I have many questions about what’s happened with you  _ two _ in your absences.” 

Thor smiled.

It was clear she wanted to know what happened to Loki, but he didn’t know how to present the full story in the limited amount of time that she didn’t actually have. He wasn’t even sure if he  _ should _ , because it was  _ Loki’s _ story. What if Loki didn’t want her to know? Then he shouldn’t tell her anything, right? 

Regardless, he’d consider what to say when he actually received her letter. She needed to leave, before the Allfather became overly upset.

Thinking no more on it, he said farewell from both him and his brother, “Until we meet again, Sif.”

She ran to the throne room and the doors closed behind her, as Thor and Loki headed toward the stables.

Now that he thought about it, Thor probably should have asked her about the Warriors Three, because they were nowhere in sight. The two of them had passed the training grounds earlier, and although there were warriors sparring, neither Fandral, Volstagg, nor Hogun were there. Nor had they been seen elsewhere in the palace…

Thor’s thoughts were interrupted; Loki asked, “Would I be allowed to borrow books from the library?”

Of course! How could he have been so negligent?

He should have known Loki’d want to visit the library!

Ever since Dr. Banner helped fit him with glasses, he’d taken to reading book after book, Midgardian novels and biographies, texts about different cultures and languages, and especially books about sign language.

Asgard’s vaults held books vastly different from Midgard’s, mostly in different languages. Maybe if Loki were to pick one up, he would fluently read it in ancient Aesir unknowingly, and that would restore some memories.

Yes, the library was a wonderful idea!

Loki loved it so much, took so long browsing and perusing, that Thor had fallen asleep waiting for him.

He woke when Loki dropped a heavy pile of books by his head. He sat up with a soft gasp, eyes wide for a split second before he took the scene in. Loki was chuckling, gathering the books together into an organized stack and set them gently into a sack that he had found.

“I asked the Librarian. She said I could borrow up to five if I bring them back within a month.”

“Did you tell her you were taking them to Midgard?” Thor smiled, teasing.

Loki paused and looked away, a mischievous grin being smothered by the biting of his bottom lip, “I might have told her that they won’t be far away.”

Thor shook his head and stood up. Same ole Loki. 

May he never change.

As soon as the doors opened into the stables and Thor caught a glimpse of the afternoon sky, he realized that his nap had lasted for more than a couple hours.

“How long did I sleep?”

Loki handed him the bag; he needed both hands free, “Four hours. I thought about waking you, but I remembered that you got in trouble once and father had punished you to spend at least twenty four hours in the library.”

Thor slipped the bag onto his shoulder, “I remember that.” 

“You thought he meant all at once, so you slept for thirteen hours before picking up a book, and then slept for another six.”

“I’m very glad you remember it to such detail. Even I don’t remember it like that.” 

He hoped Loki wouldn’t remember, but the reason he had been punished was because he had joined with others, mocking Loki, laughing and making fun of him for reading so much. What Loki  _ didn’t _ seem to remember was that it was  _ Loki _ who had punished him, transformed himself into an identical image of Odin, perfecting the spell he had been practicing. Thor had been in the Library 22 hours before he remembered that Odin was away in Muspelheim, and thus couldn’t have possibly punished him at that time.

He had been too impressed with his brother’s magic to seek revenge. Besides, the nap had been lovely.

They came to a stop by the fence; Thor set the bag on the grass beside them.

“Why are we here?” Loki asked.

“I am hoping you’ll remember Sleipnir.”

Loki didn’t reply immediately, giving Thor time to seat himself on the grass beside a wooden post. He sat, too, before slowly saying, “How do you know that I don’t?”

“Because If you did, you would have wanted to see him before now.”

Loki was rather young when Sleipnir was born, young enough for the matter to be very…  _ scandalous _ on Loki’s part and irresponsible on the Allfather’s part. Thus, it was kept a secret, and Loki acted as if he didn’t care at all, flippant as was his normal behavior. Yet, Thor knew his brother well enough to know that he snuck out at night all the time just to visit the stables, knew his brother well enough to know that he knew that Thor knew. 

So, yes, Loki would have requested to visit Sleipnir as soon as they arrived, if not back in Midgard before then.

“Where is he? Why are we meeting him here? Who is he?”

“He is a special horse, brother, your favorite. He will come by when he comes by. These are his pastures.”

Loki’s eyebrows drew together, “We stopped… to see a horse?”

“I can remind you of his story, if you’d like. Though, I’d rather wait to see if you are able to remember it yourself, first.”

“Very well.”

So they waited. 

Half an hour only passed before Thor heard galloping coming their way, so he stood up, with Loki following suit.

Sleipnir came charging right for them, and Loki took a step back, but the steed knew its limits and stopped before hitting the fence. He stuck his muzzle straight at Loki, trying his best to say “Hi” with as much “I missed you” as a horse could muster.

Loki’s mouth parted in a large smile as he rubbed and patted Sleipnir, but Thor could tell he still didn’t know, didn’t remember.

That was disappointing.

This venture was supposed to have brought back loads of childhood memories for Loki, yet only a couple memories had cooperated with his plan. Not even the memory of Sleipnir resurfaced.

Guess he’d have to tell him the story, then.

“When we were children, there was a man that wanted to do business with Father. I didn’t care much about politics at all, but you were ever so curious about Father’s meetings; so often Father would sit you on his lap until you grew large enough for your own chair. To this day, I don’t know what that man wanted. I wasn’t concerned, I didn’t care. But you were ever so clever. Father and his advisors had gotten themselves into a bind of sorts, a very tough, hard-to-think-through mess, and you solved the problem.”

Loki looked away briefly, so Thor paused. Loki sat down, as did Sleipnir, who stuck his muzzle between the wooden bars to lay across Loki’s lap.

“This man had a mighty horse that was detrimental to his plans, and you turned yourself into a beautiful mare, luring away the horse and causing the man’s plans to utterly fail. The man was punished, but you went missing. A whole year. Mother knew where you were, in the forest, unable to transform from the mare back into you. You were pregnant, and had given birth to Sleipnir under the care and magic of Mother. You should have died, but she saved you.”

Thor was unsure if he should go on, go into more detail or not. What was it that Father used to say?  _ When in doubt, don’t do it. _ Yes, that sounded right.

Loki just watched Sleipnir, gently patting and stroking, combing his fingers through his mane.

But he looked up eventually, said, “That’s why he has eight legs, isn’t it?”

Thor just nodded.

“I remember now. I was so young and so scared. Mother found me.”

There was a lull in the conversation; Thor leaned back against the stake, and he was sure he’d fall asleep again, but that’d be okay, because Loki’d wake him when he was ready to go.

His eyes had only been closed a few seconds when he felt a pebble smack him right in the center of his forehead. He sat forward and opened his eyes, “Hey!”

Loki ignored his indignant expression, “Where’s mother? When can I see her?”

…Oh.

Thor’s heart plummeted. 

_ Oh, Loki _ .

He forgot again.

Thor couldn’t meet his eyes, turned his head completely to stare at the tree trunk in front of him.

How many times would he have to have this conversation with Loki?

Each time he had to recount it, he felt like a part of him died. 

It hurt. It hurt like it was just yesterday, and he could feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

Just uttering the words made it real, and by now, he’d thought he’d be used to the thought of her being dead, but it never got easier. He’d always have to live with the knowledge that he no longer had a mother to come home to. To make it worse, he didn’t even have his brother to grieve with him.

In that moment, in  _ those _ moments, he swore he hated Loki for it, for not remembering, not being there for him, for not being there to protect  _ her _ .

He knew that Loki had no choice in the matter, that the memory issue wasn’t his fault, but it was so hard to rationalize the anger away. 

Because it wouldn’t have happened, none of it  _ ever _ would have happened if Loki had just  _ been there _ , had just protected her, had just  _ not have been locked away on Midgard _ . 

And whose fault was that? 

Yes, Odin played a part, but it was his own fault—Loki’s—his  _ own _ fault for attacking Midgard, for being imprisoned, for  _ not being there to save her _ . 

If Loki had just been a better son, she’d still be alive.

But he wasn’t, and she wasn’t.

And the worst part was that Loki didn’t even know it, didn’t know that it was all his fault, didn’t even  _ grieve _ —

No. Thor knew, rationally, that it was entirely out of Loki’s control.

It was amazing how quickly the anger depleted, leaving him jut empty and sad.

And now, he had to tell Loki. 

Again.

He was not ready for this conversation. But that was what he told himself the last time, and the time before that. Every time. He would never be ready for this conversation, yet he’d had it more than he could already bear.

“She’s… away. We won’t see her.”

“When’s she coming back?”

“She’s not, brother.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s dead.”

Loki said nothing.

Thor continued, “She’s gone. Killed protecting…”

He stopped. 

What was the point? Loki was just going to forget it all again, anyway.

(But there was that little part in him that hoped, that maybe, just maybe, Loki wouldn’t leave again, wouldn’t go away and forget, because he needed him, needed him to remember, needed him as much as Loki needed Thor. He needed to not be alone in this.)

He met Loki’s eyes, and he knew there was something wrong. Loki was slowly shaking his head  _ no _ , and Thor’s heart sank even further.

_ No,  _ please _ , brother, don’t forget! _

Thor just sat there, unmoving, watching as Loki shook his head harder, eyes squeezed tight, fists curled around hair, and then when he looked up, meeting Thor’s eyes, Thor saw nothing. No recognition, no mirth, no sadness.

He just sat there, petrified, watching as Loki looked all around with wide frightened eyes, agitating Sleipnir into moving and galloping away. Loki looked lost, unaware of where he was, unaware of who Thor was, and unaware of who  _ he  _ was. He could only watch as his brother forgot everything, all over again, leaving him  _ again _ .

He just sat there, still as a rock, and Loki tried to speak, unintelligible garbles coming out instead; so he just sat there and let the tears fall.

After all, why be strong for his little brother when his little brother wouldn’t remember anyway?

He felt like he couldn’t breathe.


	5. The Simple Things

_ What Loki missed most about being free was the quiet. Specifically that he could go somewhere to be in silence, could force the silence with his magic, or could utilize his royal status and send everyone away to accomplish just that. _

_ The prison was never silent. Even in the so-called  _ solitary cells _ , the chatter from elsewhere drifted through the walls. _

_ Even though he had no access to his magic, his genetic inheritance still thrived through his veins.  _

_ He could hear the chatter, the things they called him, the curses they spat his way. _

_ He loved it. _

_ He was proud of himself. He would not let these pathetic creatures treat him as if he were beneath them.  _ They  _ were beneath  _ him _. _

_ How did they not know that by now? _

_ If it wasn’t his grandiose entry or the effortless slaughtering of their people that showed his superiority, they should have gotten the hint from his elegant display of magic that they could never hope to wield, or even the beating he delivered to those large men with his hands bound and his magic gone. _

_ They should never have challenged him. He told them they would never beat him. Instead, he had beaten them.  _

_ In that moment, he had contemplated beating those guards, too, and escaping, but he knew his brother and those foolish friends of his would put him right back in there. So, as the guards dragged him away, he went willingly; the smirk on his face reemerged upon hearing what the inmates said about him.  _

_ He didn’t have the firmest grasp on the American dialect, and so didn’t know what the insults truly meant, but they were spoken with such derision that his superiority climbed higher.  _

_ If these were the worst of the worst, then he was clearly the only person fit to rule them. He just needed to show them that. _

_ He needed to show them that they needed ordered chaos or they would be caught in their own traps. He needed to show them that he was the only one fit to be their ruler, because he was amongst a breed of warriors far superior to them. _

_ Once he planted such thoughts in their minds and then gave them cause to brew and stir, he’d become their Ruler. _

_ He was ashamed that it’d taken him the two months he’d been there to finally cause an imbalance in their preordered hierarchy.  _

_ They hated him before, because even though they were horrible creatures, they had still cared about the other humans outside this cement prison, and he had hurt and killed many of them. They hated him before, and now? They hated him more. _

_ All according to plan. _

_ What benevolent Ruler only has subjects that  _ love  _ him? One that failed to impact them all.  _

_ If he started with America’s lowest, he could work his way up the ladder of command in a straight line. He’d become intimately aware of every single human that hated him and then he’d manipulate them, manipulate their hatred, and use them to achieve his own goals without lifting a finger. _

_ All in due time. _

_ For now, however, they had tossed him into a small room, cement like all the others, but this one was filthier. It stank of mildew that crept along the corners of the walls, of putrid urine that had dried in a sticky, yellow puddle in the corner, of the ancient feces unflushed in the clogged toilet, of the soured sweat that slept within the sheets on the cot. _

_ It was humid, and the odor sat heavy in the air. _

_ He wanted out. _

_ This little scenario wasn’t part of the plan. _

_ He was miserable, locked in the little, dark room alone, but he  _ would not show it _. _

_ He was not the type to express that kind of emotion. He would overcome and exceed expectations. _

_ He would not let this experience change him in any way. _

_ The mortals would derive no such satisfaction from him. _

—

Stress was beginning to settle in Bruce’s bones.

He had a handle on the Other Guy; that wasn’t the problem.

It was just stress, in general. Ever since Tony called him up in New York to immediately fix up a wounded Norse god, things had been all  _ go-go-go _ . He hadn’t had any time to just relax and do nothing, worry about nothing.

Loki required near constant attention, not that he was throwing childish fits, but that he literally couldn’t do anything alone. His legs weren’t healed yet, so someone needed to be by his side to guide his wheelchair. His arms were extremely weak and tired easily, so someone needed to be by his side in case he dropped something or needed something. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t hear, and the whole ordeal with the optometrist and getting Loki fixed up with some spectacles  _ immediately _ could  _ only _ have been orchestrated by Bruce and only because he personally knew the doc. 

Thor had so far insisted on being the guy by Loki’s side, but Bruce still changed Loki’s bandages, ran test after test, helped Tony with a project or two when the guy needed him, answered questions from colleagues in New York, ate, showered, slept, and in his spare time, he managed to fit in a little worry about the setbacks this little excursion was putting into his work elsewhere. 

He had to admit, though, Tony had done a great job of relaxing the entire house when he threw a house-guest-only ice-cream-and-movie party. However, Bruce had declined the invitation in favor of an insurance call from someone whose car and home happened to be in the Hulk’s way a few years ago. 

Honestly, Bruce had no idea if their claims were true, but they had somehow managed to figure out his green secret and actually found a way to contact him, and then they made him feel overwhelming guilt for everything that had happened in his entire life because of his other personality. He had been offered an opportunity to repay someone for the hurt he’d caused, and by George, all the guilt he’d been harboring this whole time was undeniable. So he decided to take some of the pressure off his chest and willfully worked with the family and their lawyer. 

But they had hit a snag. Well, sort of. He’d been happy to help at first, but this had been carrying on for  _ two years  _ now. They would take a month or so to get back with him, and then would change their demands, and now, he felt like they were trying to take advantage of his generosity. The whole thing had just turned sour. 

So, no. He didn’t relax when Tony wanted him to. 

However, that hadn’t been the only reason for his actions. He also wasn’t the biggest fan of wasting time staring at a screen for two hours resulting in zero productivity. Nor did he care for the guest of honor much.

It was Loki.

Tony wanted him to lighten up and he’d heard that Thor (and thus Loki too) had never had ice cream.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Loki at all.

No, with the core of his character having been dramatically altered, Bruce couldn’t help but prefer this Loki in light of the other.

He’d just been around Loki too much. Every single day, multiple times a day, checking on wounds and bandages, and blood samples, weighing and measuring, and then an entire day spent at the optometrist, alone with Loki, being by side every step of the way (Thor would have attracted too much attention, so they told him to go visit Jane instead)—Bruce just wanted a break from it all. There was a reason he’d never been fond of the idea of having children.

Loki was healing quickly, and so soon, he wouldn’t need Bruce’s help any more.

Another thing, one small, minor reason Bruce wasn’t too fond of Loki was the color scheme. From the moment Bruce met him, he’d realized Loki’s favorite color was green, and Loki, with relatively no memories from his childhood or his life at all before the experimentation, still had a thing for green. It must be ingrained or something. 

Bruce, for obvious reasons, didn’t much care for that particular color.

He always found himself mentally groaning when Loki would wear green, because he  _ wanted _ to like him, wanted to warm up to him, and wanted to help him recover, but Loki just made it so hard.

Nevertheless, Bruce swore to himself that he  _ would _ warm up to him. 

He had complete confidence in his self control and patience, and those have proven to be all he needed to connect with someone, whoever it was. However, Loki was different from the normal crowd he forced himself to mingle amongst. 

That just meant that he’d have to try harder. 

He thought, taking into consideration all that Loki’d been through the past two years and the fundamental changes his personality and character have gone through, that he’d have no real problem with him anymore, yet he found himself deliberately avoiding Thor and Steve and Loki in favor of helping Tony with whatever he could to take a break, get away, and occupy his mind. 

So he got to thinking.

It wasn’t  _ fear _ of Loki; it wasn’t anger, either. It wasn’t quantifiably important enough to be rational.

He simply disliked him because he liked green, because Loki liked something Bruce hated.

It was annoyance.

And annoyance always wormed its way up through Bruce’s carefully structured mental defenses and got inside his head, and then, if something’s annoying enough for long enough, Bruce would lose his patience and  _ the other guy _ would breathe.

Bruce was confident in his self control, but not confident when it came to nitpicky and petty irritations. Which was why the environment he lived in was very important to him. He liked his Beethoven and Tchaikovsky in the exact playlisted order he’d arranged them in, and he most certainly didn’t like that to be messed with. 

It was the fear of being annoyed that had Bruce avoiding Loki.

He didn’t avoid him all the time, just whenever Loki happened to wear something green. 

Bruce wasn’t a psychologist; he didn’t fully understand the workings of his mind, so that little bit of self-awareness was as far as he’d gotten on the subject. 

Despite it all, he showed no outward signs of annoyance when working with Loki in such situations. He was the one who patched Loki up and took upon himself the mantle of PCP, and he would do his job with utmost pride and effort. 

He just wasn’t too sure of what to do in situations where Loki would forget or would have flashbacks. Thor has been at Loki’s side every second until now, rubbing his neck in the (what Bruce had been told was) familiar childhood embrace to help ease Loki’s mind, and that was Bruce’s cue to give them privacy.

Now, though, Thor was… somewhere else doing whatever, so Bruce had not expected to see Loki alone, and he definitely didn’t expect to see Loki out of his wheelchair, on the floor behind a sofa in Tony’s laundry room, freaking out.

He wasn’t a psychologist. He didn’t know what to do.

But he couldn’t just leave him there.

And Loki was wearing that plain green T-shirt Bruce hated. Except, it wasn’t plain. There were dark splotches on it. Bruce knew all of Loki’s external wounds had already healed closed, so it wasn’t blood. Crouching down and getting a closer look, Bruce saw sweat dotting Loki’s temples, which was what the splotches probably were. 

Sweat.

That meant Loki’d probably been there for at least several minutes, long enough for what looked like a panic attack to overheat him to the point where sweat soaked through his shirt.

A wave of sadness and pity overcame Bruce to where he just wanted to help, to make things better. He was a doctor, right? He could do this, right?

He rearranged himself, sat flat and pulled his legs up a little, next to Loki, leaning his back against the sofa. This put his presence in Loki’s line of sight so maybe he’d see Bruce before Bruce did anything to startle him.

Breathing in to gather his thoughts, he glanced around to see what had happened. The wheelchair was on its side a few feet away, Loki’s glasses near them, and there was a book on the floor near Loki. Had Loki tried to hobble himself from his chair onto the sofa? If so, what had caused this panic attack?

Then he turned his attention on Loki himself. The poor guy was shaking, his normally pale face was flushed red, and he seemed to be hyperventilating. One hand gripped the tiny leg of the sofa, and the other gripped what little hair he had, eyes squeezed closed and jaw clenched.

Yeah, Loki was probably unaware that Bruce was there.

First things first, Loki needed to slow his breathing.

He was on the wrong side, and he didn’t want to startle Loki even more, so he stood back up and slowly walked around, making sure his boots were the first thing in Loki’s vision. 

Loki’s eyes were still shut, so Bruce stepped a little harder to create vibrations for Loki to feel.

Sure enough, it worked and Loki’s eyes snapped open, immediately focusing on the shoes, then traveling up as Bruce lowered himself to the ground.

Loki’s eyes were wide and red, his cheeks a bit splotchy as if he’d been trying to hold back tears.

Pity and sadness surged all the more. 

He tried to catch Loki’s eyes, tried to get him to connect so that Bruce could help, but Loki wasn’t focused, eyes darting around the room, everywhere, as if he were intensely watching a bee fly around. Bruce didn’t need to check to know that there was no bee.

He knew Loki wouldn’t want him touching him, and he didn’t want to for Loki’s sake, but Loki was still breathing too fast, was still looking too pale, and if Bruce didn’t get him to focus and slow his breathing, he’d pass out—an option that was never good and very not preferable. 

So he did anyway—reached out with both hands and grabbed Loki’s shoulders.

It startled him, like Bruce knew it would, and Loki’s eyebrows crept even higher into his hairline, eyes already as wide as they would go. But Loki didn’t fight him, just tensed up straight and rigid, albeit while still trembling like a leaf.

Their eyes finally connected.

Bruce lifted one of Loki’s unmoving hands to rest flat on his own chest and placed his palm flat on Loki’s, established eye contact again, and visibly inhaled, then held it.

Loki didn’t catch on right away, so Bruce decided to try his luck and tell him what they were trying to accomplish. Maybe Loki’d be able to hear him.

“Breathe with me.”

For some people and on some occasions, panic attacks enhance the senses; so perhaps Loki actually  _ had _ heard him. Or maybe he just caught on. Nevertheless, he was trying.

It took a solid minute, but they succeeded, and Bruce smiled, “And we’re calm, now. Well done, Loki!”

He let his palm drop from Loki’s chest, while Loki did the same, withdrawing a little, and Bruce stood to retrieve the fallen glasses and right the wheelchair. When he turned back, Loki was shaking again, curled into himself.

Was he hyperventilating  _ again _ ?

Jumping back over, he noticed that Loki had his hands hiding his face. He was crying.

Bruce didn’t even think before offering his help.

“Hey, hey, none of that. What’s the matter?”

He knew Loki probably hadn’t heard him, but sometimes people talk aloud to soothe themselves, too.

He gently wrapped his hands around Loki’s wrists to uncover his face, though Loki just sat there, tears dripping from the end of his nose. Bruce scooted in closer, wrapped an arm around Loki as best as he could in the position, and rubbed circles of various sizes on Loki’s back. 

Loki fell forward slightly more into Bruce’s embrace, and they sat there for a short time. Bruce didn’t notice Loki relaxing and calming, distracted with humming Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony properly, a feat very difficult which he messed up on quite a bit. 

He gave up when Loki extracted himself and sat up, clutching his still healing rib cage and looking around, probably for his chair. Bruce brought it over and helped Loki into it.

He knew panic attacks were exhausting and that Loki was probably completely drained, so he decided to wheel Loki back to his room in case he wanted to take a nap.

He helped Loki onto the bed, switched off the lights, and shut the door before realizing that he left Loki’s glasses behind. Thor would have no idea—

_ Thor! _

Where was Thor and why was he not with his brother? Ever since they’d arrived, Thor had been resolutely by Loki’s side, pureeing smoothies, helping to change the bandages—they even shared the same room! So why was he gone  _ now _ ?

“JARVIS, where is Thor?”

The AI’s reply was immediate, “In the washroom, sir. He just turned the water off.”

Oh.

He had just been taking a shower.

Bruce had almost started worrying.

All this in the span of fifteen minutes, give or take? How often did this kind of thing happen? Did Thor need to be at Loki’s side every minute of every day? Was Loki  _ that _ damaged?

“Tell him that Loki’s taking a nap, would you?”

“Of course, sir.”

He went to retrieve Loki’s glasses, and returned to set them on the bedside table. He stood, took a second to observe Loki, and marveled. He was already asleep, face lax, eyelids softly closed, breathing even. From what Bruce knew, Loki’s had trouble sleeping from the moment he arrived, so the rest was very much needed.

Thor was standing in the doorway when he turned, his face dark against the backlighting; Bruce couldn’t see his expression. He didn’t speak until they closed the door.

“Is he all right?”

Bruce nodded, “He is now.”

Thor’s expression dropped. Bruce knew that he implied that Loki  _ hadn’t  _ been all right, and the thought of that alone, on top of everything else, just piled higher. Sooner or later, something will happen that’ll be the straw that broke the camel’s back, and Loki won’t come back from it.

Thor had previously voiced such worries to Bruce during a check-up. Bruce hadn’t replied then, and he said nothing now.

Thor opened the door, uttered, “Thank you,” and slid inside, the door closing behind him.

Alone in the laundry room, with only the whirling of the washing machine to scare away the silence, Bruce lost himself in thought. He was calm, relaxed.

The stress, annoyance, impatience, and whatever else he had been feeling was gone.

Through calming Loki, he had calmed himself.

Furthermore, he realized that he had just been seriously worried about Loki getting under his skin again, yet those worries had been quelled. 

He honestly sort of liked him now.

—

_ Thor was prattling on and on, and he had stopped listening the moment Thor began recounting his “adventures” here on Midgard. He wasn’t interested in his brother’s habits and hobbies. _

_ He wasn’t interested in him at all. _

_ He just wanted to go back to his day. Thor’s visit had interrupted a very important poker game in which he was learning the tells and secrets of the inmates that were at the top of the food chain, as the humans say. _

_ He was learning how to best them and rise to the top of the hierarchy. He needed that position to win over and influence the rest of the imprisoned mortals for his new army. After all, if a kingdom is attacked from the outside, its subjects coalesce united, but if it is attacked from the inside, its subjects become political and are scattered.  _

_ Thor knew he was up to something, pried and pried every time he came to visit, but under no circumstances would he ever give in.  _

_ Thor’s story trailed off and he switched to his questions, as always. This was the annoying part, not like this whole thing wasn’t annoying, but his questions were always the same. _

_ “Brother, how do you fare in this mortal cell?” _

_ “Brother, how do the humans treat you?” _

_ “Brother, what hobbies have you latched onto?” _

_ This time, the wording was different, more Midgardian, and less invasive. _

_ “Loki, don’t you enjoy visits from your family?” _

_ The oddity of the subtle change in linguistics compelled him to respond. _

_ “What choice do I have?”  _

_ Thor seemed to ignore that verbal stab, “I've been in contact with mother and father. The Bifrost nears completion, and mother yearns to see you.” _

_ Mother and father have been contacting Thor, yet have neglected to speak to  _ him _? The Allfather still needed to take him back to Asgard to sentence him to death. The final tier of his plan rested on faking his death. However, he still needed time to create dissenters, so he must not rush anything. _

_ “What news from mother?” _

_ Thor didn’t answer. Either there was no news or Thor didn’t want to deliver it. _

_ “Will you be okay here for a while? I will be away for longer than I previously have been.” _

_ Thor certainly was full of himself, if he thought he was the only thing keeping him sane. _

_ “Where are you going?” _

_ “Jane is leaving this country for scientific purposes, and she requests my presence. We are to be gone for three weeks.” _

_ That didn’t answer the question, but he suspected his oaf of a brother simply couldn’t remember the names of the different countries on Midgard. Along that thought, Thor probably couldn’t remember the specific  _ scientific purposes _ either. In all likelihood, there were no scientific purposes, and that woman was pulling him away to get Thor all to herself.  _

_ After all, she studied the Bifrost’s gateways, if he remembered correctly, and the Bifrost had not been operational for years. Hence, she had nothing to study. Unless she changed her ways and would be studying something else, an option he thought extremely improbable. _

_ He shook his head and scoffed, still refusing to meet Thor’s eyes. He didn’t respond. _

_ “If you refuse to speak to me, I will leave.” _

_ He still said nothing. _

_ Thor sighed and stood up, “Goodbye, brother.” _

_ He left. _

—

Loki had only had his glasses for two weeks before he told Clint that he couldn’t find them, and the two of them went off alone. 

Tasha knew that was bull; she knew that Loki knew exactly where they were, that he just wanted to get Clint alone.

To conspire.

Clint knew she disapproved of what they were planning, but it made him feel like a kid again and he enjoyed it; so he ignored her not-serious-enough talk about making Loki stop his pranking. Although she hadn’t yet gotten a confession or gathered any evidence, she  _ knew _ Clint was Loki’s supplier, and that he was the real mastermind behind Steve’s glitter incident.

She watched as they disappeared down the hall, trying to decide if she should snoop and figure out what they were planning, if she should follow them to break it up, or if she should just let it go. After all, she didn’t have to stay if she didn’t want to.

Who was she kidding? She hadn’t completely established a new cover in LA yet, though her work has been perfect so far. She was just waiting on the paperwork for the lease. As soon as the paperwork went through, she could go elsewhere, establish another identity. Three was a good number to fall back on. Not too many, and not too few.

“He loses them so much, we should duck tape them to his face.” Bruce was across from her on the other sofa, scribbling on a tablet. He didn’t look up.

Hmm…? He’d interrupted her thoughts, but what did that mean—that Loki loses his glasses a lot? He’s only had them for two weeks! Wouldn’t Thor of all people be the one to keep up with those kinds of personal belongings?

She looked over at Thor, fast asleep in the armchair. Was that suspicious? 

Nah, it was only one o’clock—guy must’ve had a big lunch. 

“Does he always ask Clint to look?”

Cause if he did, that’d mean that the whole losing-his-glasses charade was a set-up; they were both in on it. Was that the signal for a conspiracy? Or was that a hint from Loki meaning that he needed Clint’s help for a devious act?

“Well,” Bruce looked up, glasses about to fall off his nose, “yeah, I guess so.” But then he went back to his tablet.

Clearly, the pranks didn’t bother him. Did it bother anyone else? Were the tricks amusing?

Did they amuse Loki himself? Why  _ did _ he play them? Why was he the god of trickery? 

Even in mythology, he tricked people, was often mischievous, and was neither good nor bad. Tasha had warmed up to Loki quite a bit, but she didn’t trust him 100%.

She didn’t trust  _ anyone  _ 100%.

Well, that’s not true. Clint was the exception. However…

She glanced down the dark hallway the two turned down.

However, if Clint joins forces with Loki on this, there might soon be  _ no  _ exceptions.

Regardless, did he do it because it brought pleasure and humor to inflict harm on others? Did he do it because he was simply bored and no one was paying attention to him? Did he do it because he felt that he  _ had  _ to? Why was Loki the way he was?

Nat turned to look at Bruce, again. He was busy on that tablet, probably trying to synthesize chemical compounds electronically by way of Stark’s virtual lab, or whatever else he does that takes up all his time.

Her thoughts and musings weren’t important enough to draw him away from his work, so she kept to herself. 

If Loki found pleasure and humor from inflicting harm on others, then she’d need to be more careful around him. Although, this changed version of Loki with his strange practical jokes hadn’t actually hurt anybody yet. The Loki from before  _ had _ found it fun to hurt people, but this Loki seems to shy away from the very thought. Perhaps now he simply found it amusing to surprise them. 

If he did it because he was bored, well, Tasha could introduce him to different, better things to occupy his time. Like, chess or card games. Surely, someone would play a game with him if asked. She definitely knew Thor would, Steve too. 

If Loki thought that he  _ had _ to joke around, then… But why in the world would Loki think that? According to Thor, Loki’s always been a jokester. It’s been part of his personality since they were children. It’s his sense of humor, and over the years, his jokes just became more cruel and harmful. She supposed, to near-immortals who had a hard time dying, the bar for what was acceptable regarding cruelty and harm was a fair bit higher than it was to mortals. 

Natasha concluded that Loki was bored of constantly reading and wanted some additional humor to his life; thus, he pranked them. 

And Clint was going along with it because that’s his sense of humor, too.

She needed to introduce Loki to something else to keep his mind occupied; she hadn’t really appreciate the alarm joke and really didn’t want something else like that to happen again (she did have to admit to herself that the glitter and phone shortcut jokes were pretty funny).

She glanced down the hallway again. That was the direction of the bedrooms—granted, they probably went to either Loki’s or Clint’s room to plot, but her room and everyone else’s rooms were down there as well.

Yeah, she didn’t really want to be pranked again, so she set her book down and quietly followed them.

Chess, she thought. She’d teach him chess. 

Loki would like it, since he likes mind games, and puzzles, and strategy. And winning. 

Could he beat her? She’s pretty good, not many can.

They were in Clint’s room, she could hear them moving about, could hear Loki’s chair moving. 

She stopped, pressed herself up against the wall, and listened.

Nothing. Complete silence.

Well, obviously, Loki and Clint communicate via sign language. She rolled her eyes at herself and casually went in.

She intended to say something to Clint, something along the lines of  _ hey can I talk to you alone _ but decided against it. Clint didn’t want or need another “lecture” about this. Instead, when both pairs of eyes were on her, she said, “Anybody want to play chess?”

Loki, as anticipated, scrunched his eyebrows in confusion while Clint just looked at him, waiting. 

Loki noticed that they were both waiting for him, so he asked, “What’s chess?”

Tasha smiled, “A strategy game. Come on, let me teach you.”

Loki followed her back to the room beside the kitchen where Bruce still sat and Thor still slept. Tony kept all his games (there weren’t many) in the little drawer beneath the TV, so she slipped the chessboard out from under Scrabble and slid onto a chair at the table. Loki wheeled himself next to her, at the end, so they were caddy-corner.

Loki watched as she set up the board; she couldn’t exactly communicate while both her hands were occupied. When she thought about it, she didn’t really know how to effectively tell him about each individual piece and what its movements were without spelling it out, and that’d take  _ so long _ . 

“Hey, Clint?” She called down the hallway.

“Let me guess,” she heard his voice reply, “you need help explaining the game?”

“I’m  _ almost _ fluent,” she returned to Loki and told him that Clint was going to explain.

Thor stirred in the room behind her, woken most likely from her call. She hadn’t thought about what to do with him before Clint came around and said, “Morning, pal. Wanna learn Chess?”

“Chess? What is  _ chess _ ?”

Clint sat beside her, “Well take a seat and find out.”

He did, slid in across the table from Nat, on Loki’s other side. 

She began by explaining what the game was, what it represented, and how each piece was a beloved member of your guard assigned to protecting you, the king. The way you play shows the kind of ruler you would be, or are in Thor and Loki’s case, since they actually were royalty. 

Loki and Thor both were intrigued. She knew she’d chosen the right game. 

She continued. Your rival needs you dead to claim your kingdom, and you in turn need your rival dead for his kingdom. Your guard isn’t just to protect you, but to also strike down the enemy. 

She posed a question to them, a question that she was very curious to how Loki would answer.

Would you take as many enemy lives as you could before striking down their king, or would you try to spare them, leave as many alive as possible, in order to reign as the beloved king, who seeks no harm to even his prisoners?

Neither Thor nor Loki moved.

She went on to explain how each piece moved, and that they were all special and unique, that you had to account for every piece when planning your moves.

Clint translated beautifully, and she moved the first piece.

Loki’s turn. He moved a pawn. And then another pawn, and she wondered if she should go easy for his first game.

No, she decided. His ego wasn’t fragile enough for that. He could take the loss. 

Several turns later, neither had lost a piece, and it was piecing itself together in her mind the kind of ruler Loki thought of himself. That, or he thought is was just a game and didn’t want to lose any pieces. Whichever. But if it was the latter, then he was the king that considered his people indispensable and considered the lives of his enemies, too. 

He’d had several opportunities to take her pieces, pointless but opportunities nonetheless, and he hadn’t gone for it. 

She knew he wasn’t stupid, that he was aware that the opportunities were there. She knew he deliberately didn’t take them. It made her think about herself. Should she play the same way or should she play strictly intellectually? So far, she’d been repaying kindness with kindness, but she wondered what Loki would repay her cruelty with.

If she presented herself as one who cared nothing for people, who considered them dispensable, would he retaliate and show cruelty as well?

So, she did. Took his pawn with her rook, placing her rook in harm’s way for no reason. She could not get anywhere with that move; it actually took time  _ out _ of her plan.

He hesitated, looked up at her (and she could feel Thor and Clint watching, but she ignored them), and waited. Thinking. 

He said, “That pawn did nothing to you, could do nothing, yet you killed him for no reason.”

And he took her rook with his queen. 

Interesting. He got into the story, was playing it out as a merciful king, yet passing judgement on those he thought unworthy of his mercy. He thought that murdering an innocent, even in the middle of a war, was still dishonorable, worthy of death.

Take down only those that stand in your way, or take down only those that deliberately seek to harm you. Which of those was it? Was there a third option?

She moved her bishop, and continued thinking. 

Did he see a reflection in that window? Did he consider himself worthy of death because he had hurt countless civilians?

Nat’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden voice, startling her after so long in the quiet. It was Jarvis, “Incoming transmission from Mr. Stark. Connecting visuals.”

Then, from the center of the table a little beside Clint, popped up a holographic screen with Tony’s face front and center.

“Howdy, my rambunctious house guests! Haven’t burned down the house yet, have you? Cause I wanna be there for that.”

“Tony!” Clint had that devilish glint in his eye that told Nat that told her he was planning something. “Nice of you to drop by, how’s New York this time of the year?” 

“Nice try, Katniss, but I haven’t gone outside yet.”

Loki advanced his horseman, so she turned her attention back to strategy for a brief minute.

Moved her horseman likewise.

“I didn’t know you were one for pointless social calls,” she interrupted the idle chatter about the weather, “or do you have a purpose for this  _ facetime _ ?”

Tony considered his personal operating system to be far more advanced and much, much better than Apple’s, so she smirked at her little jab. Poking fun at Tony’s expense was one of her favorite pastimes. 

“Ha ha, Romanov. I was returning the call to Steve. He wanted to run something by me; but Jarvis said he’s not in the house, and he clearly doesn’t have his phone on him—“

“He went for a run.”

“Yeah, I know. Let him know I called when he gets back, will ya?”

“Sure, but Tony?”

“Yep?”

“Could have just texted.”

“I wanted to make sure Joker there hadn’t burned my house down.” He sounded like a petulant child.

“Bye, Tony.”

She moved her horseman again; she hadn’t had her hand off her piece two seconds before Loki moved his rook.

Huh.

Checkmate.

She looked up at him; he was smiling, sort of shy, not in any way arrogantly.

“Well played.” 

She looked at Clint, sitting all innocently beside her, smiling like he was proud of Loki.

She could see right through it.

Tony’s call had been deliberate. 

When had Clint switched to Loki’s side instead of hers?


End file.
